The tales of not so extraodinary adventures
by tutb88
Summary: Don't make a snap decision regarding a spontaneous quest - take some time to think it over!(Nonsensical plot ahead: be warned!)
1. Chapter 1

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" _I'm looking for something," said an attractive, mysterious stranger in a deep, husky voice and leaned closer._

Charles cringes in distaste, before turning the illustrated page. This so-called light novel appears quite heavily vulgar to his taste and, honestly, why Raven prefers the likes of such.

"I'm looking for something."

What?

He looks up, caught unaware, and smiles invitingly at what he assumes is an outline of a tall man in the dark cloak, standing in the shadow thrown by the massive display cabinet.

"Excuse me, what exactly are you looking for?"

Having put that blasted book down, Charles squints at the man, who stubbornly remains hidden in the shadow.

"The sign on your window says 'we sell, not ask'."

"It probably does, yeah."

Really? Has Moira come up with that herself?

"Well, I need the most potent untraceable poison you've got."

"Ah, is it rabies —" or, heavens forbid, huge two-headed rats. He's heard some blood-chilling stories lately.

"Humans."

"Please, go on," prompts Charles calmly. Why, oh why did he agree to watch over the shop?

"I don't want it to be a painless death, neither a quick one," casually says the man. "I wouldn't say no to some internal hemorrhage as well."

"I see," Charles drawls, faking thoughtfulness.

"So, do you have it?" the man finally leaves his shadow and approaches the counter, treading stealthily and keeping his hand glued to the hilt of his sword.

He's got a sharp face of a weathered warrior and shrewd grey eyes. Charles, for some reason, can't look away.

"We might have," he blurts, "but you have to understand that the price equals, um, the risk of selling illegal substances."

"No problem. How much?"

"Twelve gold coins," ventures Charles haphazardly.

Twelve gold coins are enough to buy this shop with everything inside, and the tavern next to it, and, well, the better half of this lovely town.

"This is a total rip-off," hisses the man angrily.

"Yeah, the prices are outrageous this time of the year, I'm afraid. But this is the only decent shop selling potions around here," he is especially proud of how skillfully he had stressed _only_.

After that, Charles tries to look as kindly apologizing as possible.

"Fine," the man utters all of the sudden and drops a wallet on the counter with a very distinguishing dull clank.

"Fine?"

"Yes, fine. Now, give me the poison."

"But, you see, sir — "

"Charles, thank you," Moira's grip on his shoulder was too strong to be treated lightly. "I shall carry on from here."

Despite her slender stature she somehow pushed Charles back after winking at him and mouthing _great job_ discretely. While Charles was numbly and mutely going through being startled by Moira and then slowly digesting being horrified, the customer was prudently examining a tiny vial, produced by Moira out of thin air, no less.

Then, in a beat, the man and the vial are gone; and Moira is giving him a winning grin and a half-hug with her left arm. She's busy recounting shiny coins with her right.

"Charles, you're the best!"

"Moira, aren't you afraid that he'll come back and demand compensation?"

"Why would he do that?"

Oppressed by some vague foreboding disaster, Charles nevertheless prods:

"But you didn't give him real poison, did you?"

"This is a golden rule: never trick a purchaser. Anyway, that was the extract of pure basilisk venom and some recipe of my own. Hey, Charles, where are you going?"

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On the fringes of the ancient-looking forest Erik pondered over his options. They were not plenty. What a nuisance. He darted a sour look over his shoulder at the quickly approaching young man. Nice neat clothes, rather long hair rakishly tied back in a manner of court nobility.

"Thank you for waiting for me," huffs the man upon reaching him, studiously ignoring Erik's best murderous glare as if it is nothing.

He starts fanning himself with the book he is holding and Erik notices the embroidered intricate pattern running along the edge of his navy cloak. And in the dim light inside he would have never told that his eyes are unnaturally bright, so deep is the blue.

"I didn't want to wait for you," Erik narrows his eyes as the red disk of the setting sun finally disappears below the line of horizon. "It's getting late. Why don't you go back, Charles?" he pushed aside the folds of his cloak and unsubtly clasped the hilt of his sword.

"Oh, how kind of you to remember my name, sir!" quips Charles. Just to his credit, he's got a perfectly drawn generous mouth, prone to smiling. "You see, I've been wondering, you must have been joking back there about killing — "

"Of course, I was," retorts Erik civilly with patience of a saint.

In an hour or so, he seriously contemplates murder.

Charles, despite everything Erik has done to lose him, is still persistently following suit, while moody moonlight is flooding a forest tract.

Erik loses it after all.

"You," he growls and spins around, theatrically, drawing the sword this time. "Stop following me!"

His swords glints menacingly, the tip is nearly poking through the book that that Charles is shielding with.

"Can I, by chance, talk you out of your intention to use the poison?"

"I told you," he made eye contact. "I was joking."

"Please, forgive me, but I don't believe you," Charles states, none too yielding.

Erik wondered whether it was high time to resort to first contingence plan and knock his sorry pursuer out cold. It would be the easiest thing in the world. Besides, he really didn't feel like staining his sword and Charles looked otherwise harmless, so…

Then, Erik fell into half crouch.

Charles fidgeted nervously, but Erik was not looking at him any more, since shadowy silhouettes behind his back came into motion. Bandits.

"Behind you!"

Erik tightened the grip on his sword and let his body react to the warning. He didn't even realize what was going on before his fading senses registered numbing pain and everything turned darker than black.

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Charles' head was still very sore but had stopped spinning. He lay on the ground, the side of his face pressed against something wet and slimy. When he tried to jerk his head to the side, sharp, striking pain shot through his whole body. Ah, the attack. In a minute, Charles has found out that with hands tied behind one's back it is rather difficult to get up.

So it happened that his fumbling attracted attention and a torch was pushed right into his face.

"Is that he?"

"Dunno, he's got mud all over his face."

After the torch threatening to set his hair on fire moved away, Charles let out a breath.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," he rasps, "I dare presume, you're confused. May I help you?"

He heard voracious gaggling and more than just a few unbecoming words. Sharp stinging in his eyes was almost gone and Charles was able to see. The man with Moira's vial was lying on his back next to Charles. Thank heavens. If anything, they were alive, deposited next to the trunk of the gigantic tree. He has quickly counted more than two dozen men: some of them sitting around the nearby fire and some circling Charles right now.

"Look!"

Again, something was shoved in his face and Charles nearly recoiled, before he realized that it was only a dirty and crumpled patch of parchment. With some sketch and doodles underneath the said drawing.

"Can you please give me some light? I can't see it properly."

He was jerked to his feet, then. Rather roughly, but these people are bandits for a reason, sadly thinks Charles.

"Thank you. That's much better," placidly says Charles in response and thus peers at the drawing.

Very well, this is definitely a male face. Hard to tell anything else, with the helmet covering the most of the face and leaving the rest to the viewer's imagination. On the other hand, doodles were terribly illegible, ink washed out and letters turned into ugly, mangled shapes. Charles would make an educated guess that the name written below was a short one: something akin to Erich or Erik.

Charles could make out bandits leaning closer, that's why he cleared his throat, as if preparing to say something important.

"This," he pauses meaningfully, "is a very bad picture."

His words are met with sympathetic mumble among the crowd.

"Oi," a hand grabbed his collar, pulled him up and forward, and Charles has acutely felt how that nice silver clasp fastening his cloak pressed into his windpipe.

"Are you Erik?" asked the smelly man, shaking him like a ragdoll. "Don't fool around and answer!"

"Boss," came a timid voice. "The second one woke up too!"

"Get he here!"

The leader's grip has slackened for a moment and Charles gasped, greedy for air. After that, he was pushed back and his head collided with the tree trunk. Despite it, Charles made himself keep quiet, watching the scene in front of his eyes worriedly. In all likelihood, even if this traveler is not the man they are looking for, both of them are in trouble.

That brief inquiry has been repeated again, and, of course, the man remained stoically silent. Not a grunt escaped him when the leader punched him hard.

"Boss," again, voice of the reason could be heard, "we will take two and let Master pick the right one."

"That tosser," mumbled the burly boss-man, "making I do dirty work for he."

Charles darted a panicked look at the man, who, he has seen it himself, had fell to his knees after the blow, and felt his mouth drop open. The man had jumped to his feet, his hands suddenly free, and it looked as if a whirlwind of punches and kicks broke free. Unfortunately, people, previously stationed around the fire, were quick to draw their crossbows. Charles tried to take cover, shuffled to the side, just as somebody slammed into him and, one more time, Charles' back collided with the tree.

Then, Charles came to his muddled senses when he was running through the forest, daring not look back.

"This way," barked the order his fellow captive and tugged Charles by the fold of his cloak, in time to prevent him from running into yet another tree.

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"Thank you, Erik. Did I get your name right?"

"Yes," Erik felt quite an animalistic growl building low in his throat. "Be quiet, now. There is something wrong with these morons. They are unusually stealthy."

"I suspect there must be some black magic involved," whispered Charles furiously as he was finally done rubbing at his recently freed wrists. He shuffled closer and peeked over Erik's shoulder, bumping his knee into Erik's aching side unwittingly.

Damn all seven hells, Erik is unusually courteous tonight, dragging Charles all the way to the shelter in between the rocks and realizing, that, indeed, he is not acting like himself. Charles is still talking meanwhile.

"…apologize. I swear, this is the very first time, I've ever seen this spell going haywire – "

"Don't tell me," Erik both anticipates and dreads the answer, "that because of _you_ I feel like I've been struck with lightning."

"I need to mention that I wanted to help. I'm really, terribly sorry," timidly pleads Charles, sighing tragically. He clasps his hands together right in front of Erik's nose to illustrate his point. "Magic flow suddenly collapsed, got out of hand, therefore it backfired, you see."

What an absolute shame. Erik grinds his teeth, reeling. Losing to a bunch of scrum…

"My sword and my gold," Erik grows angrier and edgier by the second. He pats the inner secret pocket of his leather vest and slightly protruding shape of the vial is reassuring. Its' glass in unbreakable, so he doesn't worry about his own safety regarding it.

"Erik, I believe, we are far enough," Charles, the sourest sorcerer, breaks through his inner gloomy monologue. "I want to try something. Hold on."

His hand starts glowing white and Erik doesn't even have time to get ready.

"Everything's fine now," happily comments Charles and Erik reluctantly lets him heal his aching side and bruised shoulder.

Due compensation.

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	2. Chapter 2

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Charles feels awful: he is looking at his reflection in water and he has never looked that filthy and badly disheveled, like a five year old after playing in mud. His hair is tacky and refuses to cooperate, not properly brushed and fixed how he likes it. His clothes are not faring much better. Also, he is fairly hungry.

Erik, it seems, doesn't concern himself with such trivial matters. He just briefly splashes his face and drinks some water, looks up at Charles from under his eyebrows and his perpetual frown deepens.

"Erik, would you like to have a bath?"

"A bath?" he echoes wryly and murmurs something incomprehensible, which Charles interprets as a sign of grudging affirmation.

"Wonderful!" cheers up Charles and calls forth fire element.

He catches the glimpse of alarm as Erik freezes in mid crouch. Charles is actually too exhausted to bemoan the sheer lack of faith in his abilities.

He lets fire swirl above and around his extended palm and in doing so allows himself a smug smile.

More for Erik's sake, of course.

After he lowers his hand down, water quickly turns pleasantly hot, and clouds of steam rising from the little creek effectively conceal Erik from his eyes. It's probably for the best, that Erik can't see him, as Charles hastens to take off his clothes in record time. Not really self-conscious before, he suddenly discovers that he has trouble breathing evenly and not because of steam. The make-shift steaming lagoon is large enough that it shouldn't be awkwardly cramped, he assumes.

"You're full of surprises, aren't you?" comes from Erik's general direction. Charles beams privately — this sense of victory, though odd, fills him with joy.

Sun is slowly sloping down when they finally emerge from the forest. Charles is barely dragging his feet after their impromptu rendezvous. Unlike him, Erik shows no discernible signs of fatigue, or, maybe, he's that good at concealing it. Probably the latter, decides Charles.

His tired gaze used to be focused solely on the ground: non-tripping precaution is a priority. Yet, he snaps his head up as soon as Erik stops.

Oh dear, at last.

Ahead, there is a small village in the valley. Charles can scarcely discern merry bunch of red and blue roofs and immediately thinks of dinner and bed.

"Charles," Erik tells him as they are approaching the gates, "let's make a deal."

"If you're still worried about your sword and your money, don't be," Charles meets the other's eyes. "I swear, I'll make amends — "

"All right, that's it. You can make amends by leaving me alone," cuts in Erik.

But Erik evidently needs his help. He is just either too prideful or too stubborn to admit it. Yet.

"That's not an option, I'm afraid," shrugs Charles, dismissing Erik's stormy, darkening expression. As eager as he is to engage into debate with his new friend, something else is piquing his interest at the moment.

"…And I repeat one more time that my mission is dangerous. You're not listening to me, are you?"

"I'm sorry, my friend. I'm sure your story is quite compelling," Charles snaps back to harsh reality with regret, eyeing the welcoming tavern sign featuring the animal that may or may not be a two-headed rooster with the lower body of a rabbit. Currently, his brain functions are overruled by his hunger.

"Charles, wait," Erik grabs his elbow, stalling him. "That's odd. Where's everybody? There aren't any guards at the gates and, look here, what is that noise?"

"Oh. Now that you've mentioned it…"

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There are bodies around a fancy purring fountain and all over the central square. A lot of them. Erik steps to the side to avoid tripping over a random limb and slowly turns his head around. So, here are the inhabitants of this valley. The entire village.

"It's not like they are just asleep. Looks like their spirits are elsewhere," Charles' hand is hovering over the body of a middle-aged woman.

There is no evident waver in his voice. Erik is somewhat relieved.

"That noise you've mentioned earlier," Charles is done with the woman. He straightens up and gazes right at the fountain, instead. "Please, describe it."

"It was a song, I think. One of these songs they play during ceremonials," or was it, Erik is not sure any more, there is a heavy cloud residing inside his head.

The echo of melody long forgone is swinging back and forth.

Blasted pendulum.

Then, blistering pain comes and his sight clears.

They are down on the pavement and his hands are doing a damn good job of strangling Charles. Erik's thumbs are crushing his windpipe, expertly trained on fragile bones as extensively practiced.

Charles' grip on his burning wrist slackens as a shock shoots through Erik's body.

"Charles," Erik finds himself saying.

He finally relaxes his hands and lets go of Charles' neck. Reels backwards.

The pounding in his head is now overwhelming, even comparing to his burned wrist.

"Erik, listen," Charles is straining to whisper something.

But the noise is there again. It brings Erik down to his knees: he can swear that the intangible pain he is feeling is tenfold worse than all his previous injuries combined. Tearing apart something from within.

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Charles has spared a single glance in Erik's direction. Poor man is clutching at his head. Charles is so sorry for burning his hand, very sorry, but that was the only thing he could have thought of doing when he was attacked.

This incantation is far from simple. And he decided to use it in his drained state only because the signs were overall too terrifying. Is there really something from beyond? Somewhere here. Obviously watching.

Air over the fountain shimmered and a cryptic hooded shape revealed itself. Hovering just above water level.

"What is that?"

"You all right? Are you sure you should be talking?" tactfully inquired Charles, his own raspy voice startling even for himself.

Erik's sharp look spelled death.

"This is a guest from beyond, I reckon," diplomatically explained Charles. Sadly, his sore throat was not hurting any less. "I assume this will make it."

Nice and neat spell to turn his target into ice figurine without harming anyone else as he formed a shield around Erik and himself simultaneously.

Blue energy blast zipped towards the demon and Charles quickly prepared the deadlier spell, just in case, pulling at his remaining energy. It was then that he felt a powerful tug, and before he could protest Erik tackled him to the ground. Something also slid past his shoulder, fast as light.

Charles got ready to scream when it occurred to him that his shield was still in one piece.

Words got stuck in his throat.

"Run!" Charles blurts then, part command and part fearful exclamation.

Erik asks something, but there's no time for a chat and they duck into the narrow passage between the buildings.

Later, while sitting on the heap of hay in the stable, being watched by local ponies, — and aren't those wet, soulful eyes just heart-wrenching, — Charles finds out that the gash on his shoulder is still bleeding sluggishly.

"Why don't you use your healing magic?"

Oh, yes, how impolite of him to forget about Erik.

"I'd rather not risk using any more magic this instant," he peers at his shoulder and winces. Bless Erik and his good instincts. Could have been worse.

"Can't believe that it, just, went through. Bloody hell…"

Erik makes a small, impatient noise. He searched the stable for weaponry and now was the lucky owner of one rusty pitchfork. Charles considers filing the picture newly equipped Erik makes for further perusal.

"What? We can't run far, I suppose. It's better than nothing," Erik pauses.

He carefully scrutinizes Charles upon coming closer.

"I see. It's worse than that."

"Apparently, yes," frantically whispers Charles, "no tangible or intangible power of this realm can hurt the creature. You saw how its' spire went right through my shield," the stinging in his arm reminded him of that once again, "normally, if magician is overpowered, spell shatters or vanishes altogether."

"So, what's the plan?"

"Erik," slowly says Charles, only slightly hysterical, "were you listening to me?"

"Unlike you I was. I always do."

Charles rubs his forehead bashfully and stares down at his lap. At least ponies are giving him stares which, under the circumstances, might be considered sympathetic enough.

"Yes. Right. I'd like to find out who sent it and why. A summon of this caliber requires plenty of preparation and knowledge. I wonder… no, no matter how I look at it, there's nothing we can do."

"Hold on. Why can't it control you then?"

"No one is getting in here without my permit."

Charles taps two fingers against his temple.

"That's why it attacked you using me."

Erik looks Charles up and down speculatively. Nothing to be afraid of — his eyes are saying.

Spectacular.

Charles slowly gets up, helping himself with his good hand. Enough. He will show Erik what he is capable of.

Right here and right now.

"Lend me this pitchfork, will you," he quickly grabs it from Erik's hold, taps into his own life force.

Runes start running along the handle as he focuses on dead words leaving his mouth. Usually, Charles despises working with weapons, but one — this is only a single pitchfork, what harm it may do, and reason number two — Erik's made him a tiny bit angry.

"Here you are," Charles primly thrusts the now-golden-glowing pitchfork into Erik's hands. "Distract that demon with this. Give me a minute to think of something. Now, off you go."

The above mentioned creature chooses this exact moment to seep and shimmer through the ceiling, taking a shape of the cryptic hooded figure again. Charles wastes no time and dives behind the stall, where ponies are huddled together. They give him a collective wet, solemn look and Charles feels how unapologetically huge has his burden become.

"I'll do my best," he sighs and hunches up in the corner and blinks at the palms of his hands. Last time he did that, his hands ached for weeks afterwards. Not to mention the force of backlash.

If loud noises of on-going battle are any indication, Erik must be doing rather well.

Charles forms a scoop with his palms and starts a summoning. To him, world fades away and he plunges in the swirling ocean of dark as he begs ancient god to grant him power. In moments like this he acutely perceives his mortal fragility. But he goes on and on and finally he registers something in his palms. It spins and extends and thrashes like a heart, torn apart. Without further ado, Charles pushes it into his chest.

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Not only Erik is extremely relived that no one is here to see him wielding the frigging pitchfork out of all things, but he is also glad that Charles has taken cover. Seeing that Charles' last attempt at help went oh so well, hm, and etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

Erik took to the pitchfork like he would to a javelin.

The monster is in some kind of a hurry, per his careful observation. It emits a screech so shrill, that Erik has to grind his teeth and hope that his ears are not bleeding. Apparently, it had given up on controlling Erik.

He dodges multiple spires and rolls to the side. He misses two spires though and, instinctively, sweeps through projectiles with the only weapon handy. Spires fall to the ground and evaporate with a startling whoosh.

Erik and the monster get suspended in a stalemate.

"Now, now," Erik grins and fixes his grip on the pitchfork handle.

Another spire shower doesn't make him wait. But he moves faster, surer in himself and his weapon. Though, when he nicks the monster with the pitchfork, it does absolutely no damage. Just goes through ghostly body and that's it.

"Damn," he manages and a missed spire pierces his thigh.

"Erik! Down!"

Please, let it not be another lightning — flashes a random prayer.

In fact, it does look like a lightning, if only a bit. Charles can fly too, it seems. He intercepts the vanishing monster in the air and a flourish of dark and silver hits the cryptic hooded figure. At that point, it is Erik's turn to gape in astonishment for that dark and silver shape uncoils in Charles' hands and immediately pierces both ground and the ceiling, leaving identical gaping holes. Then, disappears in a heartbeat.

Erik catches falling Charles because that's what he does lately. Well, he tries. So Charles still falls, but on top of him, and knees his fresh wound because that's what he also does as of late.

"You weigh like a giant stone pile," grunts Erik under his breath as two of them attempt to stand up.

"I firmly deny," rasps Charles, "but, thank you, nonetheless."

"We will be even, if you'd just go back," retorts Erik warily.

Charles, while dangerously swaying on his feet, shakes his head weakly.

"I promised myself, that I'll persuade you to give up your nefarious plot, and I'm persuading you. And I'm not above getting rid of some demons meanwhile."

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	3. Chapter 3

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"Could you — "

"No, I couldn't."

Erik proceeds chewing his miniscule share of bread slowly.

Charles eyes a protruding wine bottleneck with painful longing. Or whatever passes for it on his drawn face.

Erik snatched the basket when they were escaping that village. Hardly a lucky catch: some wrapped up bread, a wine bottle, a knife and a set of oil paints and canvas. Well, that's what you get when you steal from a local painter.

"Drinking when hungry is not a good idea," points out Erik.

He thinks that Charles knows it too, because he heaves a sigh and curls up on his flat stone, staring in the depth of their fire moodily.

Oh, the power of pathos.

"It's so unfair," he mumbles and awaits Erik's retort.

"Life is unfair. More so, I suggest you dwell on it while you're trying to fall asleep outside, hungry, injured and exhausted, all after saving that Scrumville."

His own words made his blood boil anew. Those ungrateful bastards. Blaming Charles and him for everything what happened. And though Erik couldn't deny, that they just might have come across as rather suspicious. Perhaps. Still, peasants could have listened to their side of story.

Erik puts two more rods into fire. It crackles amicably and a sheaf of red sparks surges up, towards midnight sky.

Asleep, he discovers, Charles is very still and quiet.

Erik doesn't actually fall asleep, despite that he needs his bloody rest. He follows down a road where sleep and awareness bleed into each other, because someone has to stay on guard. Thus, night passes both too quickly and too slowly for him.

Morning sneaks up on them with thick patches of fog. Their barely smoldering campfire is on the edge of the cliff, comfortably hidden within ruins of some ancient shrine. Fog dares not slide closer, lurking across lowland, milky and entirely blanketing.

"Wow… looks like you can't tell sky and land apart anymore," comes a dreamy murmur.

Erik blames the combination of sleep deprivation and lulling meditative quality of this particular sunrise for not noticing that Charles is awake. Charles, meanwhile, rubs at his eyes and stretches, before sitting cross-legged on his stone bed and smiling at him. Erik fights the urge to give himself a pinch or say something sarcastic, because there is no way someone can look so radiant and well rested after reclining on the almost bare stone.

"You should have slept too, Erik. It is safe here," softly reprimands him Charles. There's an air of sadness around him. "We're on the holy land blessed by elves themselves: spirits can guide you through the most wonderful of dreamscapes," he gently pats the stone he is sitting on and a keen sense of loss pierces through Erik. Like an arrow would.

He can see Charles watching him strangely.

Erik shakes it off.

"How are you?" he asks, regardless of his previous intention to sweep the issue of strangling Charles under the rug.

"You mean? Ah. I'm quite alright, considering," Charles lapses into silence, cautiously prodding at dark bruising around his throat. To his credit, his face is carefully impassive.

Of course.

As if Erik doesn't know how much it hurts.

Charles' hands are shaking when he is healing Erik's already half-adhesioned wounds. Yesterday, Charles lamented that he was too exhausted to do anything but stop the bleeding.

"Should be fine, now," he attempts to stand and Erik lends him a hand to clutch.

When they trot down the path leading to the river, something compels Erik to look back.

He doesn't know what he expects to see, but certainly not the mirage of a small white shrine with elegant silvery spires, looking more beautiful than any artistic reproduction. He feels as if an impossibly gentle hand sweeps away his frown. Wind and stardust brush past him and words of goodbye die in the distance.

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Charles couldn't climb onto a cart on the first try. Erik, on the contrary, vaults up and over the broad planks as if it is nothing, and smirks back at him. Charles cheats a little then, and uses a levitation spell, which, again, makes his heartbeat uneven.

"Are you two in?" cries an elderly man, Oliver, from the front, where he tugs at the reins of a baldy horse so old, that she may as well be his age-mate.

"Yes, thank you!" Charles strains to be louder and, predictably, fails.

"Yes! Move on!"

Erik is definitely the audible one among two of them right now.

After sitting down and stretching his legs, Charles takes in their temporary haven. The cart is only partially covered with thick grey linen. The outline of lumps and shapes suggests that there are sacks underneath. As for Erik and him, they are sitting in the unoccupied space, dusted with soft hay and dry leaves.

Charles leans back against the piled sacks and briefly closes his eyes. Sun is unbelievably warm and breeze is just that right kind of fresh he adores.

"What is wrong with you? I mean, apart from great fondness for meddlesome stalking."

"Surely you can find a better way to express your proficiency in acerbic, Erik."

Even with his eyes shut, he feels Erik's insistent gaze on him. It takes some willpower to ward off the urge to shudder. He confirms his suspicions when he opens his eyes after a sufficient pause.

Charles can't remember ever going through so much intense staring as he is doing with Erik.

Erik doesn't say anything else, but his former question is still hanging in the air, so…

"That last spell I used should have rendered me powerless for weeks, at least," quietly says Charles. "In order to banish demon from our realm I had to cut through velum. It's a barrier that separates our worlds."

Erik nods, wordlessly.

"The spell itself was discovered by my father. Well, to be fair, only the initial fragment could be restored and translated later."

One thought of his father and Charles is unsurprised to find childhood memories, all that eager excitement, floating to the surface in increments. Charles caves into a smile, before putting a lid on them.

"You developed it."

"And then exercised," Charles huffs. "Nearly killed myself. And that valley is now called Dark Valley for a very good reason."

Erik can't help but smirk.

"Backlash?"

The question is crisp, though, so Erik is fully aware that he's not entertaining an absurd bragging contest here.

"The worst," Charles concedes.

By Charles' standards Erik has gone back to lazy disinterest too fast.

"What's on your mind, Erik?" he asks conversationally, after they stay silent for long enough that Charles starts getting faintly cart-sick.

"Only you, lately," retorts Erik blankly.

"Well," he mimics Erik's tone, "I'm really flattered."

"Don't be."

Their cart jerks back and then forward, and Charles nearly ends up sprawled, if not for Erik's steading grip, who is certainly getting better at catching him.

Erik gives him a perfunctory once-over, before relaxing his grip and jumping out of the cart. Charles takes his time to slide down cautiously. It appears, they have stopped on the fairly tricky turn. A tree had fallen right across the track. None too soon.

Old Oliver is fussing over the horse, which, truth be told, seems completely unperturbed by this turn of events.

Charles steps up closer to the poor man and looks at Erik sidelong.

Erik stops, raising an eyebrow.

Bandits. Again.

Turning slowly in place, Charles sees bandits popping out of the bushes and surrounding them in tight circle. That must be their leader, in the center. A young girl: unruly black hair, a sparkling cheap headband, ragged cloak. The headband is there for image's sake, guesses Charles, assessing the rest of the beat-up audience.

Charles glares. He starts before he can second-guess himself:

"Please, get out of our way this instant."

His stomach started to growl loudly and to cover that Charles forms a sphere of bright white light in his outstretched hand. Should be intimidating, he hopes.

"Hey, folks," exclaims the girl to her backing comrades, "this is just a lame illumination spell! Fear not! I'll teach him what a true magician can do."

Her overexcited voice gets a little high and funny in the end.

From the corner of his eye Charles notices, that Erik actually has a nerve to lean against the side of the cart, arms folded across his chest.

He already looks bored.

She throws a lightning bolt at Charles. And, he admits, it's rather strong for a rogue. It bounces off his shield and Charles sends his own lightning into the enemy, power tripled. He also burns the tree barricading the track to the crisp.

"I do hope, you can treat my friend and me to a decent dinner," he calmly turns to old Oliver, "since I've just saved you from them," Charles tilts his head to indicate that he means unconscious bandits lying around them. And bandits currently running away as well.

Old Oliver gapes at him for a while, until he finally gives a nod and an almost toothless grin.

Fine.

His heart is now pounding in his throat. This time the inevitable spell of fatigue is accompanied by excruciating chest pain. But it was worth it, decides Charles. There is something about a good climax, they say.

Well, it's so true.

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After a plain, but nevertheless substantial meal, old Oliver uncovers a barrel of honey ale. They are lucky, he explains, that his mistress is visiting a cousin in the neighborhood. Such occasion needs to be celebrated by rising alcoholic content, so, once ale ran out, old Oliver presents the fruits of his own distillation technique.

"It prolongs good health and youth," he slurs, sticking out his bony chest.

"You must have imbibed regularly to maintain such juvenility," drily observes Erik and Charles tries to hiss him down.

"What!? What did you say?"

"Erik says that it is working great," steps in Charles.

Old Oliver cackles, goodnaturedly, and pours cloudy liquid into their mugs standing in a triangle in the center of the kitchen table. He misses and splashes most of it, but eventually the mugs are filled and Erik takes a careful sip.

Gods almighty!

He has drunk his fair share of strong nasty stuff. However, this has just scraped his mouth and throat raw. Hell!

Next to him Charles is happily guzzling down his drink. He looks like he's enjoying himself in the company of one rather deaf geezer and one rather brusque mercenary. He breaks into a laugh at something old Oliver is saying. And then he turns to Erik.

"We can spend a night here! Fancy that!"

Erik just shrugs. Noncommittally. All his senses are very, very numb.

"Go to sleep," suggests Charles all of the sudden and pats him on the shoulder.

To his own dubious amazement, Erik does go deeper into the house, following old Oliver's befuddling instructions, and drops dead in the room with two narrow beds.

He wakes up with a jolt.

Since nobody cared to close window shutters the night before, the entire room is sunlit. As usual, Erik checks his surroundings with eagle eye. Quietly, so as not to disturb sleeping Charles, he gets up.

There is less than a brief moment of him looking at pillow-snuggling Charles, before he chuckles, soundlessly, and turns around to leave. For good, he assumes.

As soon as he opens the door, his almost decent mood evaporates.

"How?" he grinds out a single word.

There is Charles on the doorstep. Charles and his little cocky smile is all that he can focus on due to sudden tunnel vision.

"But, Erik, I anticipated that you'd attempt to escape," he illuminates, unrepentant. "Therefore, I left an active astral projection just in case."

True to his words, this version of Charles seems to be glowing around the edges.

Erik just slaps his forehead and draws his palm to cover his eyes.

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	4. Chapter 4

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They should have just stuck to the main tract and picked feathers off some caravan. It was Erik's first suggestion. After all, they were approaching one of major city-states on the western coast. Money is a must there. But Charles just had to freak out over Erik's very reasonable offer. So, between a fuming Charles and a tempting prospect of troll hunting, Erik was reluctantly swayed to the latter. He did make Charles give a promise to obey Erik when the time comes. To be more or less even, so to say.

And who in their right mind may try to rob trolls anyway? Not only their skin is almost unbreakable, but their resistance to magic is rather proverbial too. That's why they make perfect guards.

Below, trolls dart in and out of their cave. They are moving sluggishly, like oversized meat loaves they are. Erik didn't make any attempt to count their numbers. For now he only observes them from the tree Charles and he have chosen as a vantage point.

"Uh, can you smell them?" gasps Charles, scrunching his nose.

"Not much."

"You're unbelievably lucky," Charles scowls halfheartedly.

"Bear that in mind: next time you do whatever I say."

"Yes. Yes, for the hundredth time. I'm sure I'll recall it somehow."

Repeating it is like a burn relief to Erik. He really enjoys the idea.

While Charles is ranting on the subject of text-book troll tricking, Erik assesses their prospective enemies with more vigor.

"I can try and put them to sleep," Charles is thinking aloud, "but, I'm afraid, the tricky part is — I will have to touch each of them directly. Otherwise, a spell might not work as intended. For that, I'll need your help, Erik."

"How exactly can I help you if I'm not even armed?"

"You can, you know, think of something," reaching out with his hand, Charles gives Erik's forearm a supportive squeeze. "Distract them by whatever means you deem necessary. Try not to kill them, though."

"I can't do that even If I wanted to."

"Well, you are right. Let's go down there and explore this cave, shall we?" Charles' eyes are literally sparkling with excitement. "Count to five, starting from now, and then close your eyes."

In the end, it is laughably easy.

Charles floats them down onto the ground and unleashes a strong lighting spell. Its' brightness is unbearably piercing and blinded trolls start roaring, both in fear and confusion. Erik's task is, primarily, to make as much noise as possible and to dodge, twist and evade, while Charles is playing a game of tag.

More than two dozen trolls are sleeping soundly now, so they venture into the cave. Charles is the first to go in, since he is responsible for illumination. Erik doesn't trust him not to trip though, and he is right. A couple of times.

The cave soon turns into a narrow tunnel with snaky turns. They also scare off plenty of bats and huge, hairy spiders, before coming to a dead end. There are runes running along the wall in intricate patterns. And a strange animalistic ornament in the center draws a sigh of admiration out of Charles. This is a magical door, realizes Erik then.

"Now what?" he prods, "we solve a riddle and we are in?"

"Mmm, no. It says here that it will only open for those chivalrous and pure at heart."

"Tough luck. We have to go back, then."

"Erik," splutters Charles, holding the light sphere closer to his face. "Of course, it will open."

With an amused snort, Erik watches as Charles steps closer to the wall. He lightly brushes the ornament with his free hand.

Nothing happens.

"A shame," surmises Erik pleasantly, but, right after the echo of his words dies, the ornament and all the runes begin shimmering.

Faint blue light intensifies until a rumbling sound comes from the deep, echoing everywhere. The wall slides up, inch by inch.

Charles glances back at him. And whether due to magical light or, maybe, a trick of shadows, he suddenly appears disturbingly unworldly.

The hidden treasury, now opened, is enormous in size. They are standing in the archway and even with another shining sphere created by Charles, there seems to be no end to it.

"I have a feeling that we'd better be quick," whispers Charles.

So they are.

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That was some fruitful looting.

Charles rests his hand on top of the open ancient tome he's reading and rests his eyes on Erik.

Erik with a sword is a sight to behold.

He is just testing his newfound weapon, going through basic motions. And Charles knows what basic motions are, because he had a habit of watching Raven train in the similar fashion.

He hesitates a bit, before calling out:

"Erik, may I have a look at it?"

"Whatever for?"

Erik hasn't even paused.

"To see if I can enhance it for you."

Charles has already learned that it's always better to appeal to Erik's sense of practicability. Oh, that worked. Erik picks up his scabbard and approaches in long strides. Rising blue moon behind his back is cold like an evil eye. Charles absorbs the sight of pale starry sky and a small campfire with mixed feelings.

"I didn't realize it was nighttime already."

"Color me surprised. You even started a fire without looking. A little warning next time will be good."

"Sorry," smiles Charles sheepishly as he carefully reaches for Erik's sword.

Without a doubt, it is incredibly old. He, like most of magicians, can sense a special aura every single object emits. And this sword is so unlike others. There is a fanatical need to get into action about it. The urge and longing. No bloodlust, which comes as a pleasant surprise, but makes Charles wonder.

"It's too long," he tells Erik this mundane bit to shake off the lasting impression he's got from the sword.

"Its' sharpness is incredible though. It weighs less too," where Charles is expecting a jibe, Erik abruptly gets very serious instead, "I used to wield enchanted swords, but this one is something else entirely."

"How are you not a magician yourself? You certainly have some natural inclination for it."

"Superficial inclination," brushes him off Erik.

Charles bites his lip and holds in a reply.

"Hold on," his eyes fall on the gemstone soldered in the massive sword handle. "If I were to pick an energy source," he traces the contours of the dull amber stone and sends a spark through it.

The gemstone comes alive under his touch and the tips of his fingers, where they are glued to the gemstone, sting lightly. There is a twinge of something hot in his chest, which Charles recognizes as a responding call of alien magic. Silently impressed, he pours all his focus into leaving a lasting imprint. The air he breathes in turns charged and thick.

"Charles?" Erik speaks harshly, so Charles jerks his head up.

His eyes widen.

Stripes of golden light, coming from the sword, twirl and float around Erik and him.

Charles swallows hard. Night is suddenly all quiet around him, around them. Gods, but this magical manifestation is so beautiful. So potent as well.

"I," he clears his throat, "I added something to this original spell that initially protected the blade from aging. Also, I suspect that this weapon might work on astral attackers. I reckon, it will be very useful."

"And what have you done exactly?" Erik calmly takes back the offered weapon.

"This gemstone is a work of art in itself. I have," Charles falters. A heady sense of mischief floods him like a narcotic. "You're welcomed to figure it on your own. It's a surprise," he adds with ease.

In the tranquil bright light surrounding them both he clearly sees that the corner of Erik's left eye twitches oddly. It's different from usual and Charles thinks that's the subdued expression of gratitude. A bit atypical, but still.

All in all, this is a marvelous bonding experience, comes to the conclusion Charles.

He gives Erik a wide, sincere smile.

It's so good to be blessed with a friend like Erik.

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City-state Ordur is but an obnoxious and pretentious pile of stones built on blood and ruled by the group of men Erik hates with every fiber of his being. Of course, he used to think that his original plan went to hell. Yet, despite all odds, he was finally here, at the gates, wired at the thought of his soon to be executed revenge. Given that he made it that far, everything should go smoothly from here.

"Erik, you're scaring people. Why are you making that face?"

Ah, except for one tiny detail.

Charles steps up beside Erik, smiling at the guards.

Armed men relax as soon as Charles starts rambling how excited he is to visit such a great city after being confined to life in the country. Gate coins are exchanged and Charles and he go through the gates.

"I think I know what your problem is," Erik hears himself saying. Why he is saying that he has no bloody idea, by the way. Must be the sun.

"Huh?" Charles' agonizingly blue eyes reflect something akin to concern.

"You are just a genuinely nice man," admits Erik with finality.

He feels overwhelmed.

Erik has not seen Charles blush before. And now that he sees Charles' cheekbones burn red, he studies his face more intently. It's the pleasant face with candidness written on his forehead in big letters. Bloody hell!

Charles flushes more and edges back a little.

"Thank you, my friend. That's really," Charles makes a vague gesture, "kind and quite unexpected of you."

Erik looks around and realizes that they are standing in the middle of one rather busy market square. He scowls as he catches some incredulous, but mostly openly sneering stares.

"So, now that we are here, lets buy everything we need and then look for a decent inn," quickly says Charles.

Will tell him then and send him home at last, resolves Erik.

When evening finally comes and they find a free room, Erik's temper is sparked. The inn is pricey, hardly decent and overcrowded. Charles is busy making more amulets, which, so they determined, is the best way to sell their share of acquired jewelry.

After a while, Erik is tired of waiting for their food to arrive and leaves the room. He goes downstairs, already readying a couple of threats for the owner. Still, he is made to wait again. In what is proudly called a dining hall, but is just a stuffed and loud greasy pit. Erik does his best to blend in, so he is rather surprised when he feels eyes on him. He turns his head to the misty mirror, seen from where he is leaning against the counter.

A girl approaching him is certainly not shy. She is in an outfit so revealing that Erik gets a full preview of all goods offered with a single glance. And those are some goods, to be frank.

"Hi, stranger," she smiles sweetly, gazes suggestively, "I—"

"…want to bang and I'm not in the mood."

"I didn't say—" the blonde splutters.

"I don't own any property since my house was burned down. All money saved from my last assignment I spent on a vial of poison. I currently make do because I and a very clingy associate of mine have taken to robbery," Erik recites with deadly calm. "And I tend to abandon my partners and drive them into anguish. As I have been told. Well, I totally agree with these accusations. The conclusion is — there's nothing to fish for."

She stiffens and while her expression flickers from confusion to indignation and to fury, Erik rapidly snatches his tray and disappears in the crowd.

There is a sound of breaking glass behind his back.

Expected.

She seemed temperamental.

A few furious shouts ago a real fight breaks in around the counter.

Interesting.

So she is also violent.

"What's going on down there?" asks Charles with a worried frown once he enters the room.

"The usual," Erik says curtly, balancing a tray, while barricading a door one handed.

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	5. Chapter 5

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Charles' hand is placed on something wonderfully soft. He weaves his fingers through some kind of fluffy fur. After that, he seems to remember that he is supposed to be asleep and there is nothing about his bedding that can be called furry.

"What is — " his mumble is groggy and his eyes are barely open.

Charles' grip on the covers tightens as he takes in a blue furred ball nudging his side. His other hand keeps running through thick blue fur, until a fully-formed spell registers in his sleepy mind. It's not even voluntary, per se.

Charles gets out of bed and scrutinizes the fur ball incased in icy sphere from the distance. It looks rather pretty. Although…

It takes him a few minutes to get dressed and locate Erik, who is having a quiet breakfast downstairs, alone. As soon as Charles sits at the table in front of him, Erik asks the owner's wife to serve another helping. Charles briefly hesitates between blurting the news and devouring breakfast. Breakfast wins, because his body needs food after expending magic.

"Charles," Erik says in a tone as contained as his movements and posture. "Here, we part our ways — "

Erik is very shrewd, indeed, choosing the exact moment when Charles' mouth is otherwise occupied. Thus, Charles can only hum in reply and shake his head.

"Yes, we do," presses Erik. "I will even overlook your initial transgressions and say that this journey was not that bad. Overall."

Judging by the way Erik affectionately pats the handle of his new sword Charles may venture a guess what exactly he finds the most pleasing. Without any effort.

"You can't! We can't, I mean," Charles manages at last, having swallowed the mouthful of eggs, "in my bed upstairs. There's something I'd like to show you."

It's safe to say that Erik looks dumbfounded.

"If this is some kind of awkward invitation…." Erik drawls slowly.

"Is there some subtext I don't quite get?" retorts Charles in a whisper. "Anyway, a demon is there. It has woken me up, actually."

They go back to their room together and Erik points at the gaping hole in their door on floor level. Gnawed through. That's how the intruder got in.

"Don't worry, I incapacitated it," Charles nods to the icy sphere atop of his primly made bed.

"It's a blue ball," Erik taunts flatly, closing the door.

"Well, thank you for pointing that out."

"You are welcome."

"Um, it may be in this form, because it has hardly got any magic left," explains Charles patiently, slowly. "The one we defeated earlier had that much power due to summons and plenty of sacrifices. Though, I recall now that its' particular invincibility was also a rare ability amongst demons. They are called soul-weavers, by the way, but today we've met an entirely new kind."

"You have let it in our realm back then?"

"That seems like a plausible explanation. And it followed my magical trail since then, poor thing."

Erik presses his lips together, like in an effort to refrain from saying anything.

"Now I regret that I have frozen it, acting on impulse. I don't believe it means any harm."

"Yes, demons rarely do," Erik pulls his sword half-way out before Charles covers short distance between them and puts his hand on Erik's.

"You're different from others, Erik. I should think, you have enough consistency and understanding to realize that nothing is what it seems," Charles intones fervently.

At that, Erik rolls his eyes.

"Your fancy way of telling that the blue ball might not be evil needs some practice."

"But it worked, right?"

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They are in the dining hall again and the fur ball is perched on Charles' shoulder. Charles is sipping his chamomile tea and therefore pays no attention to it. Erik, on the other hand, watches it very diligently. He can't pinpoint whether or not the creature has any eyes, but he can swear that he's seen long white fangs amongst blue fur. They tend to be seen especially often when Charles is not looking.

Outside, sounds of commotion can be heard. They grow louder and louder until they completely override Charles' lengthy account of demonic species and their respective classification.

The doors to the inn open with a bang. Charles stutters and nearly chokes on his tea and the fur ball _growls_. What the hell.

Erik turns his attention to the scruffy whelp on the doorstep, but the owner's wife is faster. An apple she has thrown catches him in the forehead and the force behind it pitches him backwards.

"Mother!"

His shrill screech reminds Erik of an indignant mewl.

"You bastard! Where the fuck have you been all night?"

"The King's dead, mother! And all the council!"

Erik feels as if someone punched him in the gut. Air rushes out of his lungs.

"Erik, oh my, Erik," he comes to Charles cupping his face in his palms and peering into his eyes. Charles' hands are soft and his touch is very gentle. Erik is used to Charles breaching his personal boundaries, so he doesn't get uncomfortable anymore. Worse, he gets comforted by Charles' familiar unassuming presence.

"What's wrong? No, don't speak, just drink this," Charles hands him a glass and it's a testimony of how little Erik cares at that point that he gulps the offered glass down. He doesn't register any taste.

His careful plotting, his every hope crashes down. Focus drifting away from fussing Charles, Erik loses himself in the desert of possibilities. He'll stay there for a little while, he decides.

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"A pity, that we had to leave so early," Charles pets the beast, sitting in the crook of his bent elbow. His voice is pitched low conspiraciously, as he tags along Erik.

Not that he doesn't have any idea what is going on with Erik.

King of Ordur and his noblemen crashed by the fallen ceiling in the dining chamber. During a feast! What a terrible way to go! Charles has already prayed for the architect's safety. He is fairly sure that he's caught a few angrily huffed words he was not meant to hear. And Charles is intelligent enough to gain insight. Even if he is handed some random scraps.

Now, he is pretending to be oblivious though. It's safer. But he has hard time trying to rein in his glee. Erik's nefarious plot self-destructed — nothing prevents them from enjoying their journey to the fullest.

With city walls behind them, Charles mulls over their whereabouts. There are so many delightful places to visit in Eledia, like haunted city ruins to the south of Ordur, or, they can search for a vanishing lake. Rumor has it, it is somewhere in the area. Though it also appears only when you're in dire need. Charles wonders what this lake looks like: a mysterious shard of elven high magic. And if legends don't lie, wild dragons were seen nearby recently.

Charles swallows down trepidation, before catching up with Erik and touching his elbow.

"Erik, where are we going?"

"Away," was a succinct answer.

Erik's absent, closed off expression troubles him a lot.

"While it is a good destination, I'd like to entice you to go south from here," suggests Charles mildly.

Erik stops, all of the sudden, eyes narrowing, but no other sign of emotion on display.

"There's nothing left," says Erik deliberately harshly.

"There is always you and your sword, and me," offers Charles, extremely earnest that Erik understands his intentions, "If you need to do something for a living, how about accompanying me? As a personal lifeguard?"

Unwavering, he watches Erik with quiet resolve. The magnitude of the moment is reflected in tightening of Erik's shoulders. And, Charles, aware that something crucial is under way, dares not breathe. He hopes.

And finally.

"I charge plenty."

"That's fine," Charles draws in a full breath.

"Twenty gold coins," snorts Erik.

He knows that he asks too much and is very smug about it.

"Let's make it fifty," nods Charles stately and holds out a hand.

This is a new custom to seal the deal as he was told. Charles quite likes it.

Erik shrugs, reaches out and clasps his hand.

"Certainly not what I anticipated," he smiles, predatory, "but I'll take the job. Charles."

Along with his firm handshake and his no-nonsense intonation, Charles gets a notion that Erik would also raze cities, if Charles asked him to.

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Ruins of the haunted city, a name of which is lost forever, are not exactly ruins. For grand temples and buildings withstood time and elements with splendid robustness. Only outdoor statues and monuments have crumbled in places, their original colouring and ornaments washed out long ago.

"At its peak, it must have been amazing," Charles is in awe.

"Where are ghosts?"

"I believe, they don't exist, Erik. Once a soul leaves this world, it leaves for good. Those ghosts are just tales for desperate and for attention-seekers. Yet, I'm glad these ridiculous rumors do their job and the place is more or less left intact."

"You're not like others. I'm used to sorcerers bullshitting and keeping everyone in the dark. Comes with a title, I assume," observes Erik then, as they turn to the narrow path, serpentinizing down the hill and towards deserted city.

"I'm afraid, I have to agree," Charles scoffs behind his back, "I'd rather it was different, of course. Magic is a divine gift for humans, but that doesn't mean those of us blessed with it should be above others. And knowledge, I believe, must have no master."

The fur ball, or Beast, as Charles so smartly calls it, is rolling just ahead of Erik. As if a meager, powerless demon can take a lead. Erik lets silly thing roll, snidely pondering on its usefulness when uncovering potential traps. He's still silently reeling from the shocking discovery of the other day. Being a bad judge of his own perceptions and what not.

"Charles, wait," Erik says, eyes staying on the eerily motionless fur ball.

They are almost next to the archway leading inside the city and no matter how carefully Erik takes in a scene, he can't for the life of him determine anything unusual.

"Erik," Charles calls under his breath.

When he turns around, Charles is grimacing, distressed.

"My magic's got out of hand. Like before."

"All right. It's my turn to deal with that bunch of scrum," blood begins pumping faster with excitement.

Erik is in his element again.

"I want you to go and hide in the ruins and don't come out until I come for you myself," he instructs Charles. "I'll be with you shortly."

He passes the satchel he is carrying to Charles, and Charles takes supplies without questioning. He looks up at Erik with a furrowed brow, but, thankfully, just nods, pulls back and does as he's told. Beast jumps to perch itself on Charles' shoulder and together they disappear from sight in the archway.

Erik waits.

He remains in place, the tip of his sword pierces stone making up road without any resistance.

"Today is your lucky day," he declares to approaching bandits, "I shall be quick."

His fingers are steady on the hilt and his skin is itching terribly to rush into battle. He hears the whispers of shuffling steps coming closer, of heavy, labored breathing, clatter of weapons being drawn.

"You come with I," snorts a burly heap of a man Erik vaguely recalls as a leader.

There are about a dozen and a half men and Erik feels slightly insulted.

Bolts whoosh through the air where he's been a heartbeat ago, as he charges forward. The first kill is the tall bearded bandit with a crossbow — Erik's sword slices him neatly in half. The momentum nearly forces Erik to stumble. He is used to infinitely more force and inertia applied to the strike. Next he kicks in the gut and takes his head off in one fluid motion. All the rest merge together in gross red splutters and short agony screams.

"You were saying something," he smirks when he pushes the burly leader of the gang to his knees with a well-placed blow.

It's not prudent, but Erik feels entitled.

Despite a cut-off hand and an imminent death threat, he registers no fear in the man's dull eyes.

"I come back for you," he croaks. "Master be angry, but giving me new body. He always gives."

"Does this Master have a name?"

The big oaf only spits at him.

He's lucky that his aim is off.

"Too bad," shrugs Erik.

Gut-wrenching screams come from the ruins and Erik freezes. He immediately hates himself for not anticipating it.

He finishes the bandit in one almost careless blow and takes off.

Erik is dashing through the archway even before his opponent's body topples to the ground.

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	6. Chapter 6

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A surreal moment when he kills two men in one go and instantaneously runs ahead, not minding gore and blood, is the exact scenario repeating itself. Not owning such deadly weapon, yet, Erik has always been a force to be reckoned with. His talents flourish on the battlefield, senses sharpen and awareness multiplies.

The silence in the dead city is eerie, and Erik strives to hear anything.

He studies the ground, carefully.

He needs to find out what happened and where Charles went.

Traces are subtle, but they are there, and they lead Erik into the narrow passageway between buildings, and then to the dried fountain, where he sees tiny droplets of red marring the ground. They are stark in contrast to whitened stone. Erik follows them from there.

He sneaks into a grand, silent house, making as little noise as he can, and makes it through what he supposes is a hall before he sees two bodies lying on the floor. They are mangled horribly, flesh torn out and thick acid smell of bodily fluids filling the air. There's hardly any weapon able to leave such damage and as for an animal he might just have a right guess. If there is something good about that Beast, this must be it, he muses darkly.

Finally, his trained ear is able to register muffled noises coming from the depth of the house.

Strange triangle windows don't let much light into a room.

Faint strips of light barely brush Charles, lying on the floor. The fur ball is growling angrily when Erik rushes in.

"Charles," he immediately calls upon entering and kneels by his side.

The sounds he had heard earlier are the sound of Charles' breathing — half-sobbing and half-stifling. He's already heard them far too many times in the past.

"Where are you hurt?"

Charles looks like he's paling with every passing moment.

"My side… I think," he manages, too quietly, "my head. I fell, once."

Erik pulls at his firmly clasped hands, holding the folds of road cloak around his body, and he swears when he realizes, that the fabric is already thoroughly wet with blood. Beast nudges his side and Erik discovers that it has dragged forth a satchel. He quickly snatches it, tears Charles' jacket apart and rolls bloodstained undershirt up.

The jarred line of a cut is hard to see, marred in blood, but it runs under the lower ribs and to the right. Erik can only hope that no organs were damaged.

He will need water and fire, and herbs, and he will need to restore Charles' magic.

"Listen carefully," says Erik to Beast, applying more pressure to Charles' wound.

Charles moans in pain, and then resumes his half-sobbing again.

"There must be some sort of amulet or talisman, something that prevents Charles from using magic. Search those corpses carefully. Find it. Bring it here. Start with the leader I killed."

When Erik is done wrapping bandages around the wound, Charles blacks out, for better or worse.

Then, later on, Beast rolls in and spits out a pendant with a shard of bone.

Charles looks like a corpse now. And almost feels like one too.

Erik grits his teeth and tells himself that everything will be fine. His rule to keep the expectations low be damned.

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During two days Charles is on the edge of never waking up again.

Erik has never seen anything like that before. Charles is not one of those people balancing on the verge of pain and fever, slipping back and forth, until either their bodies start recovering or they burn out. He, on the contrary, is frighteningly cold and white, as if everything except faint heartbeat and breathing is made redundant.

Erik dutifully changes bandages, gives him sponge baths and tries to pour herbal potion down his throat. And Charles is just lying there, limp, and effectively drives him to new horizons of despair.

Silence is his only companion these days.

It's the dawn of day three, when Charles blinks owlishly just as Erik comes back with a pile of dried wood and fresh water.

He still looks very much like a pale embodiment of death, but his eyes are shining.

"It's been a while," greets him Erik with a nod.

Charles puts on a weak smile, — a less generous person may call it a twitch, really; and since then he slowly, yet surely, gets better.

Tonight is actually the very first night here, in the city, when Erik intends to get some sleep.

"I told your pet demon to hide the pendant far enough. When you heal, we'll retrieve it," Erik thrusts a bowl of brew in Charles' direction, but changes his mind and sits on the cot next to him.

"Erik? I can feed myself," Charles gets defensive, which is ridiculous in his state.

"I doubt so," he insists, "you're too weak and in pain. If you must pretend, that's fine with me. But once you spill your share over yourself, I'm not giving you another one."

Forgo embarrassment and useless pride if you struggle to stay alive.

Erik hopes Charles will learn this lesson.

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###

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Charles is standing on his own for the first time in days — and it feels like a refreshing change.

He sees that Erik is more than eager to leave the empty city behind. He worries that they might be discovered again, and this mysterious Master, whoever he is, is very persistent in hunting them down. Now it's about both of them for some reason. Charles also recalls that moment when he barely avoided capture and got stabbed more often than he'll ever care to admit. He strives to leave too.

"Make yourself scarce. Come back as soon as you notice anything suspicious," Erik orders Beast, who is on constant patrol duty these days.

Then, they go north.

So much slower than before, because Charles can't keep up with Erik's pace yet.

Either way, evening catches up with them when they approach small oak woods. The place, where the pendant was hidden.

Erik is as good at climbing trees as he is at everything else, it seems. Charles gets to stare from the ground as he disappears among greenery. As soon as pendant lands in his palm, he spends too many loud heartbeats examining it intensely. And finally an idea, and a very horrific one for that matter, appears.

"That's great that you've kept it," he tells Erik while his lips grow numb. "At least, we know what we're dealing with."

"Come sit," Erik beckons.

Charles looks up with a start.

Erik's already made a fire in a cozy hollow between trees and spread their cots. The normalcy of it brings Charles back to his senses.

Charles settles down on the cot next to Erik and takes a flask from his hand. Potion leaves stringy, bittersweet taste in his mouth. However, he obediently empties it under Erik's fixed gaze.

"Thank you, my friend," he says.

"Appreciate it while you can," retorts Erik, "this time it was nature that saved you, not magic."

"It was you, mostly," smiles Charles and confesses. "To speak of healing, it has never been my best art, you know. Elements obey so much easier. And high dark magic," he adds.

"To each their own."

Erik claps him on the back, as if what he said doesn't matter.

Maybe for Erik it doesn't.

"Why is the world ending this time?" casually asks Erik after that.

"How — "

"It happens, time after time," quips Erik wisely. "Also, history teaches that there is always a bunch of duty bounded fools who shall take care of it."

"Wait, wait, wait," Charles exclaims, "but this someone tried to capture you! They have recovered the bones of Lord of Chaos! This is so terrible that I can't wrap my mind… his resurrection means the end of magic, Erik, and though it's all the same to you, it also means that all holy barriers shall fall, _velum_ shall vanish and demons — "

"Shall end mankind, naturally," picks up Erik with a dry huff.

"Exactly!"

"The end of suffering and illusions is close. I see a cause for celebration."

"Erik, but," Charles slurs.

Smiling Erik is swaying.

"What was in that flask?" mumbles Charles as his eyelids get heavier and heavier.

"I figured you'd be agitated, so I added something to help you sleep. You can thank me later."

He can't be really angry with Erik when he slides his hand up to cup Charles' head and gently eases Charles back on the cot. This sudden act of tenderness cuts the ground from under Charles' righteous protests.

However, Charles tries his best to glare.

Nonetheless, as soon as his head lands on soft surface, he is out like a light.

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###

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Upon awakening, Charles stretches lazily and turns on his side. Morning sun is brilliant gold and emeralds, as it shines through leaves. He marvels at its beauty and sweeps his gaze over their small camping.

Erik is steering a steaming bowl. Beast, pale-blue and flattened fur, is sitting next to the fire, visibly shivering.

"Erik, what's wrong with Beast?"

He hurries to untangle himself from the cot.

"We had to destroy that bone somehow," Erik states idly. "So I'd suggested it ate the blasted pendant, unless you wanted to keep it for sentimental value."

"You took the liberty to destroy a magical item you know nothing about. You could have hurt yourself! Look what it did!"

"That's why I didn't do it myself. Demon is going to be fine, trust me."

Charles bristles.

That very moment he registers overpowering feeling washing all over him. Magic comes back abruptly and his head spins. Charles feels as though he's had a glass too many. He eventually realizes that he's involuntary levitating some light objects around himself, including poor Beast. Such loss of control over the flow hasn't occurred since he was little.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he takes Beast in his hands, channeling white healing light.

All following morning and afternoon Erik is appallingly unrepentant.

Charles too.

That's why when Erik suddenly starts speaking, Charles basically breaths out in relief. He missed Erik, if that makes sense.

"When they attack again, we are not to lose each other from sight. If you can't use your magic, stay behind me and let me do my job. How good are you with a sword, marksmanship?"

"I'm still upset with you, Erik," Charles only wants to make it clear. Then, he hums, thoughtfully. "Well, Raven, that's my adopted sister, used to claim I was hopeless, but, if you must know, I am familiar with the basics."

"Unfortunately for you, it's not enough. Don't interfere, then."

"Yes, Erik," Charles obliges with a sigh.

They stop to rest in the valley by the pond and Charles takes to fishing: namely, levitating fish out of water and straight into the bowl. Erik unclasps his cloak and then takes off his leather jacket, folding them carefully underneath the tree.

Bees are buzzing lethargically and everything is so blissfully peaceful, that it's only a matter of time before the whole thing goes pear-shaped, ponders Charles.

And it does.

In a cloud of smoke there appears a red demon beside Charles and Charles doesn't even have enough time to curse — his ill thoughts must have jinxed enough trouble. He automatically reaches for water — and a wall of it covers the attacker, giving him a moment to stumble backwards.

Erik is sliding over and pulling him sideways as the red shape reappears in the same cloud of smoke just in the spot Charles was before. The demon unleashes a searingly bright wave of magic in their direction, before it disappears again.

Charles' whole body feels heavy with fear, but his shield withstands the attack.

Only, it is not an option against a teleporter, so Charles immediately dismisses the shield.

Then, the demon appears from above and launches at Erik, also drawing a sword. Charles leaps out of the way, but, in a beat, he feels a coiled grab around his wrist that jerks him bodily up. Nearly rips his arm out. He shouts in pain and for one dreadful moment, Charles sees only a glint of blade closing in and he cannot cast a spell in time.

Stripes of golden light separate Charles from the red demon now.

He blinks and finds himself sprawled on the ground, looking up at Erik's back and his glowing sword.

"Got away," snarls Erik and turns to him.

"Not entirely," Charles sits up and desperately tries to untag his hurting wrist free.

He's still got a red limb attached to it.

Which is bleeding dark blood and, urh, that smell.

"I'll give you a hand, if you promise to throw up on the other side," Erik sits at his right side, so Charles twists to the left and does throw up.

"You made it so I could slow down time," asks Erik, finally tearing that arm off and throwing it away.

"Absolutely impossible," denies Charles, shifting to look at Erik and away from vomit. "Energy, stored in that gemstone, lets only you and you alone speed up."

"Charles," rumbles Erik pleasantly, tightening his grip on Charles and pulling him up. "This is the best damn gift I've ever had."

Charles must have been infected with the same sort of lunacy, because he grins, infinitely pleased.

So what that he's just almost died.

Quite a few times.

There's always a bright side to it.

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	7. Chapter 7

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"Oh, no! Why again?"

Since they stepped within Hesperia walls, it was the third kid bumping into Charles and trying to get away with his wallet. Little did they know that it was enchanted. And every time — the same.

A scrawny urchin is obviously feigning tears — it takes so little to take down Charles' strict frown.

Erik, who knows why street rats pick up on Charles, is not shocked in the slightest. The way he must look in their eyes: a good-natured smile, a semi-decent used-to-be-fine cloak and solid boots, clearly unarmed and looking about with curiosity betraying a stranger.

The man looks like he _is begging_ to be pickpocketed.

After the kid, with utter shock upon dirty face, makes away with a fistful of Charles' silver and parting words of sincerest apology, Erik decides that something needs to be done.

"While I enjoy this comical street performance, I've had enough," he says to Charles and promptly moves to drape his arm around Charles' shoulders.

Tucks him closer.

Subtle height difference works in Erik's favour.

"Why so affectionate all of the sudden?" teases Charles, as Erik guides them through the crowd.

Charles' smile is supple, as ever, but there's underlying uncertainty and a tad of strain in his voice.

Erik leans in.

Сloser.

To the outside observer it might look as though he wants to share an intimate secret. It's more fun than it should have been, he realizes, as he gets a whiff of Charles' scent, a slight tickle on his cheek when Charles' hair gets in the way.

"Put on a good act and no one shall approach you," he murmurs, "but knowing that you are the most approachable person in this realm, I have to step in and save the rest of your money myself. Call it extreme measures."

"You have noticed it too, right?" Charles murmurs back. "Too many beggars, lines upon lines of peasants at the gates, but guards, wearing new plate armour…"

Erik isn't surprised.

When it counts, Charles is very sharp, indeed.

"No draughts, colossal storms or magic plagues. Only some nobles have a tad fuller pockets this time," Erik mutters.

On the other hand, Charles is probably also one of said nobles, Erik muses, sparing him a sideways look. A shaft of light falls across Charles' face and turns his already bright eyes electric blue.

"Hold on, Erik! Have you seen it?"

Without bothering to look back, Charles darts to the side.

Erik goes after him, and discovers that he can't feel more than a slight spark of annoyance.

Barely present.

Which makes a grand difference in comparison to their early days.

When he sees what attracted Charles' attention, he immediately swears and pulls on his hood. There are posters of wanted criminals on the wall and among them — Charles' and his faces, with promises of rewards so huge, that Erik would have caught himself, if it was possible.

"A tremendous mistake was made!" Charles is wringing his hands.

"Yes, of course," agrees Erik mildly, eyeing their respective portraits. Charles doesn't look like himself at all. "The reward for catching you is higher? I can't believe it."

"Erik, you're totally missing a point."

"I'm not," Erik's lips quirk. "Also, be so kind, and cover your face at last, if you aren't willing to be recognized."

He shouldn't have forgotten who he was talking to, because Charles is already approaching a fully armed patrol.

Erik is left so boiling angry and speechless at the same time, that he fails to resist being shackled up.

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###

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"You cannot just imprison an innocent person and expect silent obedience," grinds out Charles, while a man he identified as a captain and his overly muscular guards escort Erik and him downstairs.

"You're a rogue dark mage, who has sucked souls out of an entire village and he's a notorious assassin. And we've found a strange severed arm in your backpack. So shut up, because you're not helping your case."

Charles momentarily wonders if Beast is all right.

No one mentioned their blue companion, fortunately.

"The archimage shall decide what to do with you in a few hours. Until then, welcome to the dungeon," huffs the captain, struggling with sticking a proper key into a keyhole.

"Why is it so dark down here?" inquires Charles. "And by the way, I could have lent you a hand with illumination, if you hadn't put this abomination on me."

He means a rusty restriction collar around his neck.

The nasty thing is grazing his throat.

"And if we were guilty as you claim, why would I politely approach your people, if not to straighten a misunderstanding."

"Who knows," replies the captain snidely, "my first guess — you must be plain stupid — "

In the darkness it's difficult to say who uttered a short, dry grunt, but Charles strongly suspects it was Erik.

"…or you are so confident, that you think you can come and rub it in my face. Also pretty stupid."

"It's neither," quietly says Charles.

Dungeon smells like rats and sweat and many worse things. No windows. Corridor with grating doors stretches far in the dark. A sad, lonely oil lamp by the door and an old guard watching it with empty expression complete the picture.

One of captain's people wrecks open the grating door on the right and Charles hastens to step inside. He has had enough bruising for one day. The bright side — their cell is close to exit and to the only source of light. The dark side is, well, everything else.

Erik sits on the ground and doesn't move an inch.

Just stares at his shackles in the gloom.

Charles would rather sit too, but he is too aware of lice and rats down there. He can hear them rustling through remnants of rags and hay. However, no, he's wrong. There are people in those cells, further in the dark and as those people resume interrupted hushed conversations, dungeon stops seeming so lifeless anymore.

To initiate a correct thinking process, Charles begins walking around in a circle. It is a very small circle and he is excruciatingly careful not to disturb Erik.

As he touches the collar, Charles convulsively swallows bile, but nonetheless decides to have a try. He focuses on his inner reserves. It appears that with extensive practice they have grown, he notices with no little amount of satisfaction. In his current predicament he tries an easy spell — a spark of fire no bigger than a candle light. When he dips some energy, a tiny flame comes alive in his palm. Together with sharp stinging prick in his neck. Charles hisses and bites the inside of his cheek.

Thus he attracts Erik's attention.

He immediately dismisses the flame. It hurts a lot, but he can do it.

"We can make it out, Erik."

"Hm."

Dismissal makes Charles wince, so he speaks deliberately loudly.

"We can actually talk here about a plan. No one is listening. That guard is sleeping with his eyes open. Quite a feat, I admit."

"Charles?!"

What?

"Charles, I've recognized your voice. It's me."

"Raven?" he nearly shouts and clutches the bars, peering in the dark.

He sees a white hand, barely discernible, waving at him from the far, opposite side.

"Raven? But you are on an expedition trip to the Northern Mountains!"

His dearest sister, like no other, knows how to throw him off kilter.

"And you are home, last thing I heard," she jabs.

"Not exactly. I visited Moira recently."

"Really? How is she doing?"

"Great, great," absently says Charles. "Raven, I'd like you to meet Erik. My friend."

Charles turns to look at Erik, who is staring at him blankly, and though he is almost obscured by shadows something filters through. Charles squirms; for all that he can't see he can _sense_ bad vibes.

"Um, he's not amendable to conversation right now. Maybe, next time."

"I hope he's not mute or, should I say, invisible."

"Quit joking, Raven," says Charles seriously. "Are you in trouble?"

"Not much. I'm not badly injured or otherwise hurt, so rest assured," she laughs.

They chat for a while and Charles gets introduced to Raven's cell-mates: Alex and someone who calls himself Frog. Alex is a likable lad, if a touch reserved, and that Frog didn't tell much. Raven hints that she and Alex are going to enjoy the merits of city life soon. Meaning escape.

"I know that you can do anything you put your mind to, my dear. Yet, I can't but worry. Please, be careful."

"And you," sternly presses Raven.

The screeching is the evidence that someone is opening the door. It's time.

Well, speaking with Raven was a good distraction.

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###

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Charles and he were firmly pushed into a room, which looks like it was furnished with deliberate disregard for style. Sturdy wooden table with red wine spots and greasy smears certainly contrasts with a posh armchair in the center and thick carpeting.

Unfortunately, they are never alone and the security is tight enough that Erik doesn't see an opening for diversion.

Four guards and a silent hooded woman in the corner, who can only be a war mage, are watching them like hawks.

Charles fidgets in the uncomfortable chair he was pushed into. His shackles click dully, when he folds and unfolds his hands on the table.

In addition, Charles is regarding him pleadingly, more an inquiry into his condition than anything else.

"Good evening," a voice says from the doorway, behind Erik's back.

A thin man in flawless robes strides in and lowers himself in the armchair at the head of the table.

"Good evening," politely responds Charles.

"I assume you've heard about me and I don't need to introduce myself," he smiles patronizingly.

"No idea," both of them say at the same time.

It's a pleasure to watch his face fall.

"Sebastian Shaw of Hesperia," the archimage pronounces it with aplomb, but that absolutely doesn't ring any bell.

"Don't get upset. I'm sure someone has heard of you. Outside of Hesperia, that is," smoothly assures him Charles and Erik wants to cry and laugh in equal measure.

Shaw pauses for a moment, maneuvering for a face-saving statement, but apparently not discovering any.

He settles for a thin, unconvincing smile, then.

"You can start with telling me about that village."

"Which one?"

"Are there others I don't know of? The one where you turned all people into your puppets."

"Oh, you mean that one. That's not true. Erik and I saved it from a demon. The soul-weaver to be precise, if you're familiar with its kind."

"A soul waver… what? Don't tell me tales," demands Shaw, losing his polish bit by bit. "You set up a peasant uprising in Eledia!"

"Excuse me, but that just sounds ridiculous," protests Charles fiercely.

"They have established a cult!" Shaw snaps. "Worshiping a fucking pitchfork with mysterious magical powers!"

"Oh dear," Charles gasps faintly. "It has skipped my mind."

"I dropped it, when we were running away," Erik muses aloud.

"You were injured and in a hurry," tells him Charles, always likely to presume that other people are tweaked by compunction.

"Shut up!"

Shaw jumps to his feet, making Charles wince.

"Shut up, you two! You wrecked cities upside down and just give in! Like idiots," he splutters, barely holding onto control.

A madman, clearly.

"All right, all right. I shall quickly get rid of both of you and go on a relaxing stroll," Shaw manages to sound both amusing and threatening.

The way he spoke of death so lightly, almost flippantly, told Erik a lot.

People like Shaw don't kill for purpose only, but for pleasure.

"Give me your spell," he turns to Charles. "The one that cuts through everything. Write it all down. The incantation, the summons, schematics, all."

"I can't," suddenly calmly says Charles, "it might kill you."

"What can some third-rate mage know about killing someone like me," gloats Shaw.

"That third-rater, who seems to be way out of your league?" scowls Charles.

Erik shakes his head and hopes that Charles understands, but Charles isn't even looking at him.

"Fine. I came prepared," Shaw says, pulling what looks like a vial from his pocket and placing it in front of Charles on the table. "We'll move to my laboratory soon, but before we do, you shall drink this. To dip your reserves completely. Let's not resort to pouring it down your throat by force."

Charles is very still.

"Did you think that I was not aware of general collar malfunction?" Shaw tuts mockingly. "I need to be sure that you can't use magic. At all."

Guards move forward and Erik feels tight grip on his shoulders, and immediately processes what will happen.

As expected, he can't move when Shaw circles the table and stands next to him.

"For the time being I need Erik alive, but not unharmed," smiles Shaw as his hand turns black.

Charles gulps down the vial that instant.

His face pales exceptionally.

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	8. Chapter 8

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Shaw's laboratory is in the large bell-shaped dome in the tower overlooking the entire Hesperia.

Must be hell to walk up there every day, ponders Erik darkly. But, what can a plain commoner know, perhaps, basement doesn't quite match the archimagical style.

Shaw is tugging at Charles' elbow, prompting him to walk faster.

Erik is tailing them, circled by guards. The spiraling staircase goes higher and higher. When he raises his head up, he can only see faint light up ahead.

Charles seems to have some trouble coordinating himself. Enough to stagger and earn another condescending snicker from Shaw. Erik recalls how bad Charles looked when they left that room: lips bloodless, forehead covered with sheen of sweat, quite obviously dizzy.

Shaw did break Erik's right arm back then.

So as to be exemplary he said.

Generally speaking, Erik has had much worse than one swollen limb. It isn't inconvenient that much, at least not as much as he tries to show on purpose.

Erik is fairly sure he can get out of shackles when the moment comes. He was unobtrusively loosening a chain fixture for a while, and if he applies enough force he will be able to free his left hand.

Hm, there's something to be said about grandiose architecture, he idly notes. There is a large pentacle seal in the center and its exact replica painted on the underside of a glass dome. Erik would like to know what it is, but, evidently, he needs an expert opinion.

"Is that a teleportation seal? The odds are… too much energy required…" echo carries Charles' shaky whispering nicely, even when he's out of breath.

Thank you, Charles.

Shaw waits for Erik to come up to the table in the mirrored niche.

"Get to work. Mind, you don't have much time," he tells Charles, pointing to quills and a roll of parchment on the table, and orders one guard to stay and watch him closely.

Erik fully turns his mind to Shaw, seeing as Charles, though grey with strain, is relatively safe for now.

Shaw strolls to a stand with some contraption on it and Erik and his escort follow. Screw the contraption, because the man is foolish enough to have all their possessions laid on display. His sword, Erik stifles a dry laugh, that demon's arm, and he has no idea why Charles insisted on keeping it, even gold and other trifles they collected. Well, here is the caged fur ball, disheveled and sooted in places, but alive and growling quietly.

Charles is going to be delighted.

As is Erik at the moment.

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###

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Shaw pawed over their things, none too creepily, asked plenty sneaky questions, counting Erik as some dark, illiterate swordsman. After that, he narrowed his eyes at Charles' slumped back.

"You'd better hurry! I intend to break his other arm, if you don't finish soon. For symmetry," he says loudly and jumps to another topic. "I reckon you have no idea that this sword dates back to Elvish Epoch."

Erik resists the urge to snort.

Instead, he humours the soon-to-be-dead wanker and gapes stupidly.

Try not to overact too much, he reminds himself.

"Can't imagine where you stole it from," Shaw picks it up and points at Beast, earning a furious roar. "And yet I don't know how that lowborn enslaved a demonic creature. Of course! I'll force him to write it down as well," he nods to himself.

"But… but he, er, told me that he was a P-prince from the West!" Erik sniffles and makes a distressed noise.

Damn, he just can't help it.

"Oh, really?" Shaw's laugh is agonizing, however brief. "Those elvish eyes of his may certainly appear arresting, but, no matter how many generations have passed, half-breeds, as a matter of fact, can never clear themselves of their filthy ancestral sin."

Great.

A racist.

While Shaw goes on about interbreeding with madly glinting eyes, Erik shifts his stance, ever so slightly.

The shackles, designed to weaken him, he turns into weapon. A forceful tug and his left hand is free and chains come hard across guard's windpipe. Erik spins around and kicks out the other man's kneecaps before he can as much as yelp. He evades Shaw's spell by using the remaining guard as a shield and pushing him in the way of attack.

As he lays his left hand on the sword hilt, Erik wastes no time to set Beast free.

He leaps on the stand, just as a fireball is shot.

The burn is frigging scorching, but a maneuver is totally worth it.

Shaw doesn't even register that his hand is missing, before the sword finishes its graceful arc.

It's only now that screaming truly breaks free.

Erik swiftly springs over Shaw, while the mage growls and tries to attack him again. Shaw makes to turn, slips on his own blood and nosedives. Erik's sword hilt lands right over the back of archimage's neck.

He finishes off injured guards in a blink and runs to Charles.

"What the hell! You didn't help!" he snarls at Beast.

Blue demon is sniffing Charles, who is sprawled next to the table and bleeding from a gash on his forehead. Erik quickly takes a scene in and determines that Charles had his head smashed against tabletop.

Apparently, the guard who did it paid with torn neck.

Putting his sword down, Erik braces himself, before lifting Charles up. His broken arm is on fire, like his right side, by the time he carries him to the center of pentacle and Beast starts dragging their belongings there as well.

Now comes a tricky, but enjoyable part.

He pushes the still smoking corpse out of the way and drags Shaw to the pentacle. Then, Erik straddles his chest and brings him to his senses by putting pressure on his trachea. When Shaw starts thrashing and wheezing, woozy from pain and blood loss, but more or less coherent, Erik passes his sword to his right.

With free hand he rummages through his inner pockets and, victorious, pulls out a vial. Oh, how long ago he purchased it. Ages.

Uncorks it with his teeth.

Sneers.

"Personally I don't mind pouring stuff down your throat by force."

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###

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Charles feels like he is attempting to cling to a rock in the midst of spinning vortex. He fails every time. Nausea comes and goes. Through breathless daze he senses fingers carefully exploring his forehead. Delicate touch lingers on his temples.

Healing white light is so intense that he gasps. His eyes shoot wide-open and fill with tears — immediate response to illumination.

"Easy, lad," comes a melodic female voice he doesn't recognize and he is coaxed into drinking cool, salty liquid. "With time vile potion shall be washed out. So far, physical injuries have been fully healed."

"You'd best be right. All gold you've made me sacrifice to your Temple of Charity better pay off," grumbles Erik's voice cynically. "I know people who charge less for royalty assassination."

"Necessity knows no price," sweetly parrots a healer.

Erik snorts.

Gods, may I go back to sleep, fervently pleads Charles and squeezes his eyes shut.

His wish is granted as the healer touches his forehead and gently murmurs an incantation.

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###

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"Charles, wake up," is the first thing he hears.

Charles gingerly rolls over on his back.

He slowly lifts his heavy head, noting that he is on a rather nice bed, in a neat and tidy room, reminiscent of expensive inns.

Erik is looming over his bed, obscuring light, as only Erik does.

"Erik, how are you feeling?" cheerfulness creeps into his tone, whilst he is attempting to assess his bearings.

"Angry," simply says Erik.

Charles does a double take and chokes on his next words.

"Not with you. You've been out, after all." Erik huffs, dropping in the bedside armchair. "That white priestess shamelessly robbed me blind, and in this bloody holy town I obviously can't find a job. Shall I continue?"

"By no means," Charles scoots back and settles comfortably against padded headboard.

"I meant to wake you up, because you must drink your medicine regularly."

"Right," Charles glances to the tray and reaches for a phial and a glass.

He discovers that he's still oddly disorientated, as he misjudges distance. He is lucky to grab the phial after the second try, he concedes.

"I'm aware that you're not healed yet, but there's only money to pay for one more night," Erik scowls. "And your magic?..."

Charles thinks about overwhelming void inside and fumbles with the glass.

"The priestess said it shall come back. Speaking of which, she was impressed with you," Erik fills in.

"Erik," Charles mutters, and firmly, "I want to apologize."

"No. You are likely apologizing for a wrong thing anyway," Erik says easily.

Charles meets his eyes with certain degree of foreboding, but Erik's gaze is unruffled.

"How did you get us out?" Charles hums. "I recall I wanted to hint you at the impossibility of using a seal. Not only tremendous amounts of energy are needed, but that type of volatile magic demands extra careful calculations, least you want to be reduced to nothing… Dear gods!"

The corner of Erik's mouth quirks up. Bitterly.

"Ignorance is bliss at times. Earlier you said that gemstones make good accumulators, so, well," he gets up, goes to retrieve something from the corner and Charles sees a long, rusty sword, which looks as though it will turn to dust if someone is to cough nearby.

"Oh, Erik," Charles tears up at the sight. "You liked it so much."

He lifts a shaky hand to trace the cracked gemstone. In his eyes, this sword was akin to pledge of friendship.

"Can it be restored?"

No, Charles should say, its spirit is dead.

"Yes," he nods. "I shall do it for you."

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###

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"Erik, why Beast avoids me?"

"Punished," cuts Erik rashly.

Beast was at his sweetest yesterday, snuggling close to Charles and doing a lot of ingratiating. Until Erik saw and promptly banned it from the room. Nobody explained anything, so Charles deduced it was something to do with what happened when he was pretty much under.

"It didn't get to you in time," suddenly adds Erik.

"Oh."

A stone bridge across the Imubard River seems to be extremely crowded this sunny afternoon. Charles blinks to chase away shadows from peripheral vision and wipes his forehead, silently marvels when bouts of dizziness will finally go away.

The buzzing crowd on the bridge is a weird one.

No men, only erratic female populace, dressed in fancy or just disturbingly bright outfits, lining both sides of bridge.

They emit potent ravenous aura.

Charles abruptly wishes the bridge was wider.

"I feel ill at ease," he murmurs.

"News got about the Prince of Alliance is travelling around the country incognito. It was assumed, that the easiest way to intercept him is this bridge. Don't give me that look, Charles. Carefully listening to people gives you an advantage."

"Makes sense, hm, the Imubard is a wide, dangerous river, and this bridge is the most convenient way to…"

He trails off. Surely, his eyes are deceiving him and that is not Moira, next to that underdressed brunette. Gods, his eyes.

Very soon, Erik and he are passing through parallel ranks of potential princesses on standby.

Charles regrets that his hearing is that good.

"…can't be… look, a typical commoner."

"…goons both of them, I'm telling you."

"…too pale…too gloomy…not tall enough…"

"Everyone knows that the Prince rides a snow-white fiery steed and his features are the epitome of manly beauty!" exclaims a particularly vocal one.

Charles stops and turns around.

He feels sorry for their lot, even despite such atrocious lack of respect.

"Excuse me, but I suggest you redirect your energy into more worthwhile activities."

"Charles," growls Erik.

"If this Prince is travelling incognito, you will not be able to — " before he can utter another word, a hand covers his mouth. Erik presses them tight: Charles' back to his chest, perfectly composed and immune to his struggles.

"Stop it, you crazy thrillseeker!"

Charles weighs his chances and wriggles again, while quiet falls over the bridge and more heads start to turn in his direction.

That kind of synchronicity is frightful.

"Satisfied?"

Now Charles sees that he might have made a mistake.

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	9. Chapter 9

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A back yard they decided to use as a temporary cover was mercifully empty. Charles wheezes and fails to catch his breath. Rather pathetically.

Well, serves him right.

Erik crosses his arms over his chest and refuses to be moved. Never in his right mind had he imagined that he would be chased by rabid women. Yet, look at him now.

"Ugh! This fog I've summoned," groans Charles, "can't last long."

"You think?"

"As you might have noticed, I'm a bit short of magic."

"It pains me dearly. Are you asking for advice now?" Erik asks. "Because, honestly, Charles, this once I wash my hands off. And you… Hm, beg them to go easy on you."

"Erik," starts Charles pleadingly, and then abruptly gasps and stares at something over Erik's shoulder.

Erik turns around, ready to swing into action. The fog is dissipating, indeed, and there, next to a post, stands a snow-white unicorn. Bloody creature is practically shining. Wait! The unicorn? In some back yard?

Charles ducks behind Erik as the unicorn looks in their direction.

Puzzled, Erik glances over his shoulder at Charles, clinging to his cloak.

Charles' smile is stiff and lopsided.

"I'm not quite fond of unicorns," he confides.

"Aha? Although petting demon is fine. Should I mention I find your preferences disturbing?"

"I also dislike huge rats," offers Charles.

"Still disturbing."

Erik hears the characteristic creak of a door being opened. He schools his features. He is not ready to try and cross a street yet — these women are lurking somewhere nearby.

A dark silhouette emerging from fog is rather menacing though. The unicorn neighs and Charles subsequently tugs at his cloak so hard, that Erik nearly stumbles backwards.

"Easy, Bone," says a bearded, burly hybrid of a dwarf and giant, finally coming out of fog, and strokes the unicorn's neck.

"Which one of you is a sorcerer who summoned this fog?" he asks with surprising amount of respect.

Charles kindly relaxes his grip.

"That would be me. What can I do for you, sir?"

"I'm in dire need of your services. I saw you summoning the fog on the bridge and I have to say that my gratitude knows no limits."

"Oh? Can't believe it," Charles gapes and Erik feels that he is not following until Charles exclaims. "You are Prince James, of course!"

It clicks.

The unicorn, the peasant-like Prince and Charles' great timing with that fog.

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It takes a while to leave that town unnoticed and for Erik's grimace to soften into an apathetic mask, which is, kind of, more perturbing. Charles reasons that Erik doesn't grasp the situation in general, so he makes sure that his own assessment is delivered.

"He is hiring me to slay the dragon and break through the barrier of Elpinuki. Can we be luckier?" whispers Charles suggestively, while the Prince is paying for their rooms in the inn.

Which means a soft bed, a bath, and also good food, and did he mention the bed?

"I'm holding my breath," Erik lowers his voice as well, "because I actually don't get why you are so sprightly about it. Did you choose to overhear the dragon part?"

"Ah, let's hope it doesn't come to that! Magical species are endangered as it is," Charles mutters bitterly, but cheers up. "Erik, that tiny island is practically oozing magic like a giant reservoir. No one ever breached the barrier in thousand years! Well, it is protected by some amazing deadly seals and the dragon, not to mention an enigmatic Snake Clan— "

"Charles, the lecture."

"Right," Charles smiles to Prince and quickly utters. "Therefore, I will be able to restore your sword there."

"Sorry to have kept you waiting," the Prince gives him a key and bows his head, very politely.

Goodness, but Charles is so delighted to meet a courteous person once in a while. He feels like preening next to such chivalry.

"When is our ship leaving, your Highness?"

"Please, just call me James. At dawn and worry not, the vessel is in excellent condition, so our voyage is going to be a pleasant one."

"Fabulous."

"May I ask for your assistance, meanwhile?"

Prince James leans closer and Erik pointedly clears his throat.

"Your lifeguard certainly earns his salt," he says as Charles shoots Erik a flat look.

"Erik is a friend, really, only a tad too cautious," Charles has almost forgotten the lifeguard thing.

Had Erik not introduced himself as such, that is.

On the way to stables Charles purposefully stays beside Erik. His fears are confirmed when they approach the unicorn, already surrounded by gaping servants. They flee after they see them, which Charles wishes they hadn't done. But Erik looks grim and Prince James has this unexpectedly menacing appearance, no mind his nature, so such reaction, though utterly ridiculous, is understandable.

"As expected, glamour can no longer protect Bone from unwanted attention he gets wherever we go," Prince James sighs into his beard.

Tragically.

"Please, don't tell me you want me to put a new spell on, er, Bone," Charles mumbles.

"Fine."

A pause.

"I want you to, though."

"Charles already told you that he can't," intervenes Erik abruptly.

"I might need some time to come up with a proper quality seal," Charles blunders out this nonsense, because childhood flashbacks dim in comparison to prospects of comfort. Also, he must keep his promise to Erik.

After the Prince leaves them alone, Charles turns to Erik.

"I might have lied, that's a minor spell."

"I figured. What do I need to do to help?"

Charles nearly melts that very moment.

"Moral support, I think," he says and takes his time to marvel at the infinite beauty of this unicorn.

He approaches slowly, afraid to spook the unicorn, although earlier Bone didn't protest when all these people were touching and patting him.

"Charles, there's something wrong with this goblin, I mean the Prince."

"Erik! You saw the crest on his hand and that, I have to say, cannot be faked. And, Erik, my experience tells me that if you trust people, they usually trust you in return."

Erik makes a curious sound behind his back, but Charles ignores it in favor of extending his hand and carefully placing it on Bone's neck. He is done with the spell meant to disguise the unicorn and turn him into an old grey gelding in a heartbeat.

For him Bone, of course, stays the same; and these large, dark eyes are so penetrating that Charles lingers, minutely mesmerized by sheer serenity and wisdom in their depths.

Until the devious creature twists his long, graceful neck and bites him.

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The dawn is dull and chilly and a fairly strong wind is blowing. So not typical and therefore not quite good beginning of their voyage. The Prince thinks otherwise. His booming voice easily overpowers the howling wind as he commands to unberth.

Charles is huddling in his cloak at the front of the ship when Erik finds him after securing their cabin.

"Charles," Erik stops talking when he sees that Charles is staring ahead blankly, his brow knit.

His left hand is glowing green where he is gripping the rails and the glow is spreading all over the ship.

He is still favoring his right.

"Done," says Charles in a minute, rough-throated. Wind and chill pinkened his cheeks nicely. "Sorry, Erik, needed to strengthen the protective shielding."

"Is everything running on magic?" grumbles Erik.

"Um, basically. Alliance relies on magic in every other sphere, that's why a born sorcerer gains so much respect by default," Charles clarifies. "Though the current royal dynasty lacks even the tiniest bits of gift. They say it may be a curse. After all, the Prince's ancestors were all mighty magicians of their epoch, dragonslayers and warriors worthy of legends."

"His ancestors might have been sleeping around too much with wrong people, then. Or editing the chronicles. Wouldn't be the first time."

Charles groans in response — exasperation laced with humor.

The contrast between outside gloom and their cozy cabin, coated in warmth and soft golden light, is startling. Beast is here, occupying the couch, effectively pretending to be a pillow. Furniture is curved of some insanely rare reddish wood and Erik finds such luxury excessive. It doesn't mean that he won't enjoy it while he has a chance.

Charles sits on the edge of the bed and examines his right hand. Swollen and bruised it remains.

"Never knew that they bite… humans?"

Charles gives him a dirty look, runs his uninjured hand through his hair and sighs.

"Maybe, unicorns consider you appetizing."

Erik replays words in his head and cringes.

"Last time, it was the same. It hurt less, I think, or no, but I remember that the bite couldn't be magically healed as well," Charles concedes.

Where could Charles possibly grow up to be bitten by an almost extinct beast? In a wildlife sanctuary?

Yeah, well, it could actually explain quite a lot.

As the day goes by Erik reads — there is a library on board, watches how Charles fails to brush Beast, then brushes Beast himself, leaves the cabin and comes back, irritated by shitty flying rats outside.

"Erik, are you bored?"

Charles questions from his idyll sprawl on top of bedcovers in company of a grimoire and excellent wine. Perfectly at home.

"How can you tell?"

"Well, you're unusually restless and this is only day one. Thus, I have a suggestion."

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The one thing which keeps him from exclaiming something unsavory is the firm clutch of Charles' hand.

A moment ago Erik was sitting on the bed next to Charles and now he is staring down at their ship from the heavens above.

"Incredible, right?" Charles' body seems to be glowing around the edges.

Ah, how could he forget. Erik has already seen Charles' astral projection before.

But, seeing is not experiencing.

With ease borne from what Erik assumes are years of experience, Charles draws Erik closer and clasps his other hand. His injury is nowhere to be seen, although Erik feels his touch acutely, to the point that he catches the ghost of warmth from the proximity.

"It is safe when you're with me. Where would you like to go?"

Erik's eyes flick down, homing on the sea below, leagues upon leagues of water, and then on their entwined hands.

"Illicium, if possible," picks Erik.

He didn't have any desire to willingly go back to his native city for ages. No haunting memories or nothing of the kind. Erik supposes that, at some point, he has totally lost himself to the world.

"As you wish," says Charles and the entire scenery _shifts_.

There is a pull, deep inside, and a very vague feeling of movement before Charles and he are floating over the towers of the self-sufficient city-fortress. Stone walls are grey and black like he remembers. Blazing red banners are being torn by fiery wind. Dashing sea waves attack massive walls like they have been doing for centuries.

"Erik," softly reminds him Charles, "I sense war mages. Our presence may be detected if we stay too long."

Erik meets his eyes and nods.

It appears sometimes words are no longer needed.

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"Today is a great day, the day when we reach our destination!" the Prince's voice is ringing all over the crowd of unperturbed sailors.

Next to him, Erik looks like he is worlds away, which is a very skillful pretense, Charles knows. Erik's unfaltering vigilance is that, unfaltering.

When the Prince finishes his little inspirational tirade Erik snorts:

"And cue a collective sigh of relief."

Charles starts applauding to obscure Erik's sardonic remark he has unfortunate amount of familiarity with.

Captain and some crew members reluctantly join him until a deck boy starts screaming:

"Dragon! The dragon is over there!"

"Over there? Such precise locus," comments Erik, while people are panicking and frantically looking for cover.

"You're on a sunny side today," Charles gives Erik a little shove, peering at the blue sky.

The dragon, indeed.

Heavens, the creature is so sparkly that his eyes hurt.

"Sir Charles!" the Prince elbows his way through the crowd to reach them. "Please, make sure that the carcass doesn't fall on the ship!"

"Have a fun slaying, Charles," adds Erik even as he sits on the barrel.

Charles just scowls.  
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	10. Chapter 10

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His first insistent thought is to lure the dragon away from the ship. Charles soars in the sky so fast his breath catches — he hasn't done it for a while. His heart leaps and somersaults in wild anticipation as he readies a spell. The house-sized dragon is silver — a truly beautiful sight, the terrifying jaws are different matter though.

Charles' shield withstands icy breath and he hits the dragon with a hammer-like cluster of pressured air from above, forces the beast to plummet down. But not for long, of course. Enraged, the creature roars and darts after him, their ship thankfully forgotten.

And Charles experiences the thrill, maybe, for the first time in his life he tastes the exhilaration of challenge.

It's cool up there and the dragon's breath makes it even cooler.

This time Charles responds with an old-fashioned fireball and wraps himself in protective shield like in a cocoon. He takes an evasive action and attacks with another fire spell: dark magic colours fire black this time as it burns the dragon's wing. Charles nearly gets whacked by spiked tail, but gets in another hit.

They freeze among clouds, then, face to face. In awkward stalemate.

How old is this dragon wonders Charles briefly? Is it as insane as the rest of its' kind, mysteriously losing their mind after the _velum_ was erected by gods. So much was sacrificed to protect humankind.

"I don't want to hurt you!" he cries. "Awfully sorry for your wing!"

The dragon _sniffs_ at him with regal amount of disdain.

Charles feels like walking upon air, which he literally does, well.

"You understand me! You're sane, thank gods!"

He mentally peruses everything he's ever read on the subject of dragons.

Bargain.

What would make a good bargain?

The silver dragon peers at him curiously after he voices his proposal and Charles senses scream in alert at powerful, large presence inside his head. He endures it and only a small sound works loose from his throat. You can't lie to dragons, for they can see everything you are, down to the deepest secrets and darkest corners.

"All right," he says daringly, when the presence retreats, "that settled, I might need a little favor. Could you please pretend to be dead and fall into the ocean? Pretty please?"

He lands back on the deck, which is drenched in water. The dragon could have chosen to dive a little bit farther, but no, of course, the beast has opted to drench them at least.

A fairly pleasant moment when Erik darts to him is ruined by the Prince, who springs out of nowhere:

"Gods almighty! That was the most elegant dragonslaying I've ever seen."

"Maybe because that's the only one you've seen," retorts Charles, but his words get drowned in cheering.

Erik finally manages to push through the crowd surrounding Charles.

"Charles, let's get out of here," he simply says.

Only when they are back in their cabin and Charles drops on the couch, Erik asks:

"What exactly did you do?"

It's particularly hard for Charles to keep his tongue tame as it is, so at some point he stopped even trying.

"That obvious?"

"Yes, it is. Not buying it. You, killing a dragon without second thoughts? You didn't even want to roast that unicorn, though the bastard certainly deserved it."

"Well, I detest senseless violence," slowly says Charles.

They sit through a short-lived pause before Erik gives in:

"Will you tell me?"

"I… might."

"Today, if you please."

"Um. However, I am fairly sure, that I shouldn't tell anyone about it."

"Charles," Erik prowls closer, looming as usual, and Charles sits up straight, not that it helps much with the looming.

"Charles," repeats Erik silkily. "Why do you think I follow you no matter what crazy escapades you get us into? Any idea why I'm still here, with you?"

"I care for you a lot too… Erik?"

"You are an amazing person, and it must be some instincts within you to make people so fond of you," Erik announces as if this is a well-known fact. "And also a great joy and despair of mine. It's more of a moot point. On this account, Charles, can you tell me what has happened to the dragon, so that I could stop worrying over the unknown and worry about a new predicament of ours instead?"

Erik is so brutally caring — Charles thinks, as heat levels inside the cabin rise dramatically.

"I made a deal with the dragon."

"Neat."

"I promised — "

He is interrupted by loud, rapid knocking on the door and the Prince's voice calling his name and shouting about snakes and barriers.

"Later," Charles gets up to stand, but Erik doesn't move an inch.

So Charles consoles him with a kiss, which quickly turns mutual, yet regrettably brief.

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What Erik first notices about Elpinuki is extremely hot humid air, immediately absorbed by his clothes. A truly disgusting mix of sweat and earthly fumes ensured. Next, there are these snake people Charles can apparently communicate with.

Fortunately, those snaky creatures are listening to Charles with universal open-mouthed awe. They may erect a couple of shrines in Charles' name ponders Erik with dark satisfaction, when he glances at the neglected Prince.

"They are inviting us to a feast," translates Charles and prudently advises. "We should go. Not so sure about eating though, but we can always politely pretend."

The Prince looks disappointed.

"Our goal is to reach a dead mountain in the center of this island and soon."

"We are only guests here and a common courtesy suggests that we honor the Snake Clan's wishes," Charles offers promptly.

Erik, who hasn't got an ounce of path-breaking spirit, agrees, because Charles will go anyways. And when a fairly predictable thing happens, he likes to be nearby.

The Prince frowns and agrees, because without Charles he wouldn't have gotten this far. He passes his impressive morning star to one of sailors, who nearly doubles under its' weight. Everyone was surprised when their royal hirer came ashore holding that monstrosity.

"What a merciful weapon you have here," points out Erik with fake amazement when they trail behind the welcoming procession.

"Huh, wouldn't call it merciful," grins the Prince. "It was my great-grand father's."

"Who was he exactly? A marauder?" dumbly asks Erik.

But Charles is already here to spoil fun by initiating some small talk with the Prince.

As soon as the Prince is beyond striking distance, he turns back to Erik.

"Why are you antagonizing him?"

"It's in my nature."

"One day it's going to reflect badly," grimly repents Charles.

"That's a chance I'm willing to take."

The feast is actually like every other feast Erik has been to, except there's no music in the background and the food seems either half-cooked or alive and trying to escape.

Next to him, Charles has been vigorously helping himself to drinks. Erik reflects on Shaw's potion that the priestess said was basically a deadly poison. Watching Charles right now, he, kind of, comes to a realization: Charles can probably stomach much more than an average person ever could.

Magical, indeed.

All in all, they ended up celebrating till dusk to great royal displeasure.

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"Rather devious of you," murmurs Charles, stumbles over the fallen log and falls into Erik's arms, a touch too heavily.

"So you can get drunk. Here I was wondering," hums Erik speculatively.

"I prefer not to, unless it's a special occasion, or sometimes one needs to ease one's transition to sleep, or — "

"Fine, fine. I see you have a list of reasons on standby," remarks Erik.

The gap between tree crowns allows in only little moonlight and Charles hopes that his flush will go unnoticed. His embarrassment is short-lived, seeing that he is currently being held by Erik. He is quick to tilt his head up and press their lips together. Erik's hand slides up to his nape and tangles in his hair as he responds with softness never expected of him. When he pulls back first, Charles looks at him questioningly.

"Essentially, I'd rather spend some quality time with you. Unfortunately, that's not why I lured you in the jungle alone at night."

"A persistent whisper inside my head was feeding me false hopes then. Damn!"

Charles casts his eyes downward, chewing on his bottom lip.

"Are you hearing voices now?"

"A figure of speech. I'm a bit befuddled, yet I'm all ears."

"What a relief."

"Well?"

"His Highness disappeared. I guess, he must be either torn by wild animals by now— "

"Oh my!"

"But, mark my words, we can't be that lucky. That's why I think he's on his way to that holy mountain."

"Source of magic… Of course!"

"Any ideas why he might want to reach it so much?"

"He was persistently obfuscating the issue. My presumption is — the Prince is trying to gain himself magical powers by whatever it is… up there."

After a brief deliberation, Charles ends flying them to the mountain.

And, by the way, he finds out that this way of travelling makes Erik quite excited.

From the sky they watch the hollowed throat of the mountain and tiny lights crawling towards the gaping orifice.

"Did it occur to you that this island was sealed from the outer world for a reason?"

Erik really knows how to ask a right question at the right time.

"Probably. Only, that ship has already sailed, my friend," shrugs Charles. "Also, the dragon seemed bored by her guarding duty and so is the Snake Clan."

"That's a fine-grained reasoning, what can I add."

"Come on, Erik, get ready. I'm dropping us down now."

"Not literally, I hope," retorts Erik tightly, playing it cool.

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Charles makes their descend right into the dark, gaping hole quiet and smooth.

When his feet touch the ground Erik lets out a breath, he didn't know he was holding. He has taken to Charles' magical tricks recently, especially appreciating his creative usage of certain spells to ease mundane, routine tasks, like starting a fire or fishing, for instance.

Flying is so far the most exhilarating. Way better than astral projection.

"It was great," he honestly admits to Charles.

"Glad that you liked it. Flying demands lots of energy, but I seem to have plenty of it now. After all what happened lately it's a huge advance. We'll do that again, some time," says Charles, as lighting sphere blooms in his palm.

They discover the Prince and his lot farther to the center, near another smaller gaping hole, emitting weak rainbow glow.

"Your Highness, I was worried where you might be!" exclaims Charles nonchalantly.

The man in question nearly jumps out of his skin at the words. His people are none the better. Apparently, they have been too absorbed into staring down the hole. But not to hear their approach, gods, thinks Erik disdainfully. A way to go in the unfamiliar area.

"Sir Charles," cries the Prince, "I didn't want to interrupt your slumber!"

"Erik did," flatly says Charles. "I'm grateful, otherwise I'd have slumbered all these interesting discoveries away."

"That would have been such a shame," cheerfully adds Erik.

"All right. For what it's worth, we are already even," the Prince's tone turns dry. "I've paid you your share and even additional charge for boredom— "

"What?"

"Charge for boredom, Charles. It was not a lively voyage to be frank," fills in Erik.

"But that's," Charles coughs in vain attempt to downplay it, "unheard of!"

"Just you wait! It's going to be very heard of," smirks Erik.

"Have you finished?" asks the Prince rather snidely.

"We have. Please, go on," drawls Erik sweetly.

"In principle, we can call it square."

"Wonderful," smiles Charles after a tense pause. "Erik, may I have you sword?"

Erik unfastens the scabbard and passes his weapon to Charles without a word.

Charles grips the handle and advances towards the crowd surrounding the glow, which, Erik notices, gets brighter and brighter with his approach.

"This magic is mine!" shouts the Prince, grabbing his morning star. "You may not know that, but I'm invincible to almost all spells."

"Like a troll?" inquires Erik.

"Like a what? Argh!" he lifts his weapon threateningly. "You shall not pass."

"I am not going to, calm down," with that Charles leaps over the gawking gang to hover just above the intensely bright glow.

"Nice move," compliments Erik from sidelines.

While the Prince goes wild on the ground, Charles presses the sword to his chest and closes his eyes.

The glow suddenly swirls up like a spiral, and Erik instinctively realizes that something is not how it should be, before it envelops Charles and disintegrates into myriads of sparks.

In the darkness that ascends Erik curses at no one in particular.

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	11. Chapter 11

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Erik spits out some blood and lands another punch. If he is entirely honest with himself he's got quite a beating. The Prince appeared as rocky as he seemed, the jerk.

The final jab did it though.

"At last," gets out Erik, panting.

The moon pops back out from behind the cloud to illuminate the insides of the mountain. Erik takes his chance and darts for rope and one barely smoking torch.

"Charles!" he calls several times and echo multiplies it and throws back at him.

Erik lights the torch and glances around.

The Prince and his gang, check. Unconscious. The frigging huge cave, check. The hole, where magical well or pond used to be, check. No trace of Charles, check.

He hears a person groaning and swallows against the ache in his chest. Again?

"You should just stay knocked out," Erik groans, dragging his feet to human pile he recently erected, "is that too much to ask?"

In the golden glow from the torch he is confronted by the bloodied and confused Prince attempting to sit up.

"Who are you?" barks the man. "Where is this?"

Something in his voice interrupts Erik's inner debate whether to clobber His Doucheness with the torch or whether a kick in the head will do the job.

"Hate to break it to you, but you're dead. This is hell."

"And you must be a local wit," rasps the Prince and curses obscenely. "Seriously, man, quit bullshitting me."

His demeanor is absolutely different from before.

"Well, I can give you a brief update," agrees Erik, mentally calculating how this memory loss can be used in his favor.

"Damn it!" the Prince says, after a moment. "I knew it, that old dog tried to steal my body."

"Excuse me?"

"Our familial sorcerer wanted to impersonate me and drive my soul out. And since my brother hasn't been seen within Alliance for ten years, he can't become a king. And according to— "

"I don't care. At all," Erik regrets not clobbering the Prince. "But I've apparently saved you, so— "

"— so what?"

"So where is all the chivalry? Helping needy?"

"You don't strike me as a _needy_ ," the Prince slowly straightens up, swaying. "I'll help, because if you hadn't intervened, my soul would have been gone."

Yeah, a power of a well-placed punch can do miracles.

"That established, see that hole over there? I must go in to check it and bring my friend back safely. If he is even in there. You will pull us out."

They stumble to the edge of the hole together and Erik throws in a spare torch.

He counts to twelve heartbeats before his ear registers a dull, far away thump.

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Somewhere behind his back Charles hears Moira's frantic voice. He staggers forward by instinct, or was it just a residual motion, and gets blinded by sun, piercing sky and startlingly white sand.

A moment ago he was holding a sword. He can feel the phantom weight and shape of handle as though he still has a grip on it, when, in fact, his hands are empty.

Speaking of which…

Charles blinks away tears, because that blasted sun is constantly in his eyes, and stares.

He is on the seashore. There's some weird metal wreck ahead. And Erik, face half-obscured by helmet, is levitating down to the ground. Also a body.

Charles rubs at his eyes and looks to his right.

A blue demoness is there, in the distance, and some other… someones.

The only thing escaping his mouth is a whimper. Not that Charles didn't study those Elpinukian legends carefully, but he considered obscure tales of bond between the Dragon of Time and the Dragon of Space just nicely crafted allegories. What he got in, probably, likely, is another realm.

As this Erik strides to where Charles is glued to a spot, his eyes going sharp and cold in the way that makes Charles reach for magic and sigh in relief, when he discovers it available, just on the tip of his fingers.

Too absorbed in his inner inventory, he completely misses the beginning of Erik's speech and next words, which he understands, thank heavens, catch him by surprise.

"…go ahead, Charles. Tell me I am wrong."

"Well, you are wrong," utters Charles carefully, and realizes that he's said something he shouldn't have the instant Erik gets even more feral than before. "That was a rhetorical question, or no?..."

"Read their minds, Charles. They're targeting us now," grits out Erik and gestures to the sea, accusingly.

Charles turns to look at dozens of grey dots, probably ships, and hesitates:

"You see, Erik, I can't read minds, never could, to be honest. And I might not be the person you're taking me for. Also, terribly sorry for this."

Before Erik's petrified expression graduates to furious, Charles doesn't waste time. He touches Erik's elbow lightly and the man crumbles to the ground. Like a puppet with its strings cut.

"Charles!"

Many voices are screaming his name simultaneously.

Suddenly, the blue demoness is charging at him, shrieking:

"Charles, what have you done? They have fired, oh god!"

There is a powerful booming, as if sea and sky are roaring.

Charles quickly turns towards expanse of water again and his eyes dart to objects in the sky. He makes sure that his shield stretches all over the beach. Fire and smoke never penetrate it, though they temporarily turn day into night.

"Holy shit…" the blue demoness whispers shakily from where she dropped to her knees beside him.

"Please, calm down, um… whoever you are," lamely says Charles, despite feeling as shaken as she looks. "Erik is just asleep. Had to do that, he seemed quite agitated. Sound sleep is the best cure for frayed nerves— "

"Ugh, Charles, stop! Erik is pretty tough, so he'll deal with a knockout somehow. What do _you_ mean by 'whoever you are'?"

"Since when can you do that awesome stuff?" cries out a youth, one from the weird gang running towards him.

Blue is everywhere in this world, decides stunned Charles, looking the furred human-like creature up and down.

"It's me, Raven," the blue demoness rises to her feet and slowly reaches for his hand to steady herself.

It's her touch that convinces Charles.

"Raven? Why are you blue? Are you cursed?" he gasps, fighting down a panic.

How could that happen to his dear Raven!

"Zip it, Charles," growls Raven in a low voice, "because, swear to god, if I were not so worried that you already have some sort of concussion, I would hit you."

Gods, she must have been born that way here. What a horrible, horrible thing to say.

"I'm sorry, dear, but that's not my fault for not knowing," he waits before wide-eyed Moira joins their small circle, and gives everyone, minus sleeping Erik, a reassuring smile. "I have a story to tell. Please, hear me out."

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"Well, it really is as dark and deep as hell," snorts Erik aloud and pulls at the rope three times, signaling his safe landing.

For climbing down here he's paid with ever increasing chest pain and blistered palms. Nothing to worry about — Charles has healed worse wounds.

Erik swirls his torch around: the floor is pure sand; walls are solid, dark rock and nothing, nothing gives him at least one clue where to start looking.

A sudden surge of fear and confusion makes him _burn_ from the inside.

"Don't think it," he says to his dread, lodging somewhere in his gut. "Charles is ridiculously powerful and knowledgeable. He'll do just fine."

When he's investigating rocky walls, he hears a muffled clang against his boot. It takes him a moment to realize where it came from and a few moments to dig the hilt of his sword out of the sand. The sword is as good as new, steel gleaming coldly and the gemstone has never been more vibrant.

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"I'm not completely sure where to begin," says Hank, scratching his chin. "If a multiverse theory can even be applied to this accident, I don't see how the whole sequence may converge."

"Screw the sequence, show us more awesome spells, please," Sean begs.

"All right, here you are," Charles manipulates sand to form a little, delicate figurine of Raven with a bow, like he remembers from adolescence.

He used to exercise fine control almost every day when he was younger — this recollection is actually painful right now.

"You may take it," Charles whispers a couple of words and gently touches the figurine, melting sand and quickly cooling it down.

"Wow, it's beautiful!" Raven looks at him quizzically. "Can I do magic too in your world?"

"Ah, not exactly."

She scowls.

"We're wasting precious time," Moira comes back to them from the wreck of contraption called plane, impressively practical in every realm. "We must leave this island as soon as possible. By the skin of my teeth I managed to procure us a transport. And someone has to wake Erik."

They simultaneously look at Erik, curled up on one side, with his head in the crook of his elbow. So far, he has been very quiet, barely twitching at all.

"Yes, you should definitely wake him up. What if he gets cold!" suddenly realizes Charles. Then, he recalls Erik's frightening icy eyes and reconsiders. "Maybe later, healing sleep will only do him good."

"Yeap."

"Sure."

"Of course."

Everyone comes to a mutual agreement with remarkable ease.

When Charles finds himself feeling the ghost of sword again, clasped in his hands, he abruptly stops talking and focuses on dim sensations. If the sword is a link, he thinks, will our faded connection be enough? Pulling at something intangible is not easy, but he has been doing it all his life. Elements, spirits and energies are as real for him as bread and water for most people.

"Unbelievable," gasps Hank or someone of their lot.

Charles is solely focused on the shimmering visage molding in his hands. It takes a shape of his Erik's sword and he closes his right hand around the hilt, spares a brief look at surprised faces and grins, ecstatic.

He is going home.

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Everything falls away except for tactical sensations and Erik's vision swims.

He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them to Charles' smile, Charles' cold hand clutching his over the sword hilt.

Instead of explaining, Charles practically leaps onto him, and Erik can do nothing but return the embrace. It's too tight for his protesting body, but it's really good for his state of mind. After pressing his cold nose against Erik's neck affectionately and soaking up some warmth, Charles lets him go.

"Where have you been?" Erik rasps.

Charles chuckles fondly, studying his face. For once, he looks unreadable.

"Erik, I've been to a different world," he pronounces with aplomb, tinged with awe. "I have met your look-alike! He can fly there! Can you picture that?"

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Late at night, when no one else is on the back of the deck, it occurs to Charles to come out of their cabin for stargazing. Exploring a night sky is like an adventure for a refined mind he told Erik, who, indeed, didn't need much convincing.

Erik chooses to rest his head on Charles' lap, and therefore can watch not only starts, but also Charles.

"All right, Charles," he says quietly, "you may ask whatever question you've been dying to ask."

"Hm, not a question, exactly," responds Charles just as quietly, tilting his chin up and addressing the skies. "You do know how to kill mages, Erik. I suppose, you've done that plenty of times. What about me?"

Erik is not expecting something like that.

What he tells Charles is truth. From his viewpoint.

"Mages, witches are just people. No matter how potent your spells are, your reaction is always restricted by your body, your mind. You, Charles, you're so powerful that first of all, I'd try to get closer to you. Then, I'd go for your head first, hands after that. That fight would have been fatal for both of us, though."

Charles surprises him with a soft laugh.

"Thank you, Erik. I wanted to know, because, for some reason, I was never afraid of you. However," Charles pauses to lean down and brush stray stands from Erik's forehead. Ends up caressing his face.

"However what?"

"However, I was scared of another Erik. Something about him made me unsettled."

"Good that you're here, with me."

In order to chase away sadness he catches Charles' hand and pulls him all the way down.

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	12. Chapter 12

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The port is bustling, but Erik feels the need to lower his voice: Charles' hearing is surprisingly sharp.

"Ever heard of the Lord of Chaos?" he asks the Prince openly.

The Prince nods, his expression tight.

Erik informs him then that some sorcerer, going by a lame alias Master, has uncovered certain bones.

"You aren't joking?" pales the Prince and curses darkly. "That means —"

"I'm totally not joking, man. Look here, Charles mustn't find out — he was gravely wounded and almost died last time we faced that bastard's cronies. The trauma hasn't vanished and there's a good probability he may be haunted by it forever," finishes Erik forlornly, watching Charles attempting to fit the protesting Beast in his satchel from afar.

"That happens to the best of us," nods the Prince. "Though he looks fine to me."

"He is trying to be brave," gravely says Erik and hesitates, seemingly genuinely torn.

"Alliance is going to take care of that rogue mage. Whoever he might be he can't possibly fight our united forces," the Prince declares. "Besides, plenty of war mages are sitting in the capital doing nothing. That would make their bunch busy."

Erik counted on the Prince having his own agenda and was right.

It figures.

Less than a minute after the Prince and his unicorn disguised as an old horse leave their sight, flustered Charles gravitates closer. Erik doesn't hide his smile.

"Erik, have you, by chance, done something—"

"Clever?"

Charles tuts.

"I was going to say nefarious."

"Perish the thought."

"Ahem."

Erik then works on making his account of conversation edited with sound reasoning.

"We can't ignore whoever this Master is forever. I don't want to face some crazy and probably insanely powerful dark mage just because _someone has to_. And I'm not insane to march right into a trap head first. Well, we do have Alliance for that and their armed forces are literally rotting in boredom. Think about all wasted taxes, Charles."

"When you put it like that, it almost seems like the best option," Charles' grumpiness visibly molds into thoughtfulness: he is far too intelligent to brush away such blunt rationalizing.

"And, Charles," Erik speaks frankly. "When it comes to confrontation, one of us may die for sure next time. Or both. This life is hardly unicorns and sunshine, but there's a lot to miss, don't you agree?"

"No to unicorns, but I see your point," confirms Charles passionately. "Together, we can have much more — "

"Dangerous accidents?"

"I was going to say exciting adventures."

"I bet you were."

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Twilight is glowing.

This forest tract is rather wide, but barely used right now, after great market week in Elvengarde is over.

Birds are playing hide and seek in the leaves. The chirping floats in among trees teased by the wind. They are walking relatively slowly — tired as they are after a long walk through the forest.

"Out of all enchantments, I'm particularly fond of natural ones," Charles says dreamily.

He is in the most poetic mood today, because everything around him is so inspiring. His eyes seek out Erik's and Charles can't but smile, for he has discovered his greatest hunger and his peace in one person.

"Erik, I—"

"Hush," Erik stops abruptly and gestures for him to do the same. "Someone is closing in."

Charles, wholeheartedly unwilling to let his splendid mood go, sighs and casts a simple fireball. It became a reflex lately.

Not that it matters this time.

The procession sliding down the tract is composed of hunched hooded figures. Pilgrims are humming a sacred chant of Una, a goddess of nomads. Naturally curious, Charles fidgets with impatience, aching to learn more about the pilgrimage, but all of them pass not raising their heads. Unfortunately, interrupting the meditative processing is considered very rude.

Pilgrims are escorted by six knights and a sorceress in purple and black of Elvengarde troops. The sorceress glances at them enigmatically. Her elegant features are touched with pride and something in her appearance seems strikingly familiar.

"Charles, why are you two staring at each other?"

"I honestly have no idea. I am sure she is familiar, yet I can't quite collect my memories at the moment," Charles follows the procession with his eyes while his mind reverts to his Academy days.

In vain.

Consequently, he soon forgets about her.

Night falling, they speed up, all too willing to rest in the comfort of some respectable inn.

Their room is a bit too much: pierced by four tall windows with giant bed between white pillars, it resembled royal chambers. The bath was magnificent though. Elvengarde is famous for its' incredible bathing spots — waters here are rumored to heal and soothe body and soul.

So true.

Charles refrained from lighting candles.

Moonlight is more than enough. Relaxed, he tilts his head up, to look at the ceiling adorned with frescoes. Shadows prevent him from distinguishing the pattern.

Erik sits on the bed next to him, tugs him closer and then rolls them over the silky blankets.

"This sort of comfort should be properly exploited," suggests Erik, pressing Charles into bedding.

"I share your opinion," Charles huffs.

His hands travel up and down Erik's back. He is genuinely enjoying the feel of rough scarred flesh under his fingertips — the story of Erik's entire life sewn into his skin, crude and perilous.

Almost silence ensued as the sounds of their love-making grow from harsh to subdued. The rhythm of the night swinging like a pendulum. Charles faintly struggles with the instinctive drag of weightlessness which may actually propel his mind to drift into astral plane on its' own volition. This experience is always too much for him. And, well, drifting off is not something he wants right now. Right now he has Erik.

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Erik doesn't wake up until late in the morning, when the sun is already up.

His limbs seem to be pleasantly weighted down and, as he turns on his side, burrowing his face into a pillow, Erik is overcome by the heavy bout of sleepiness again.

"Stop this instant," floats Charles' voice from afar and drowsiness is gone.

A touch dumbfounded, Erik sits up in bed, too sluggish, and looks around.

Charles, in nothing but nightshirt, is casually sitting on the large windowsill of the open window. Somehow he manages to pull off his both charmingly tousled and youthfully nonchalant look with ease. Opposite him, also perched on the windowsill, is a yesterday's sorceress. Unlike Charles, she has her back to the room and cascade of fair hair and folds of cloak are the only things Erik sees. That is, before she turns her head.

Not human, realizes Erik.

She literally turns her head all the way around and gives Erik a sharp mocking grin.

"Erik, you must recall the dragon we have met recently. How should I introduce you, my lady?" Charles inquires politely.

"Emmanuela is fine for now," she swings her legs over the windowsill and slides onto the floor.

She unabashedly takes in Erik's nudity and marches to the oval mirror hanging next to the bed. Charles follows her, smiling apologetically.

"You'd better not breathe a word about anything you see or hear," she throws to Erik before she touches the mirror.

Erik exchanges a questioning look with Charles.

"Emma doesn't trust humans," shrugs Charles.

"Well," drawls Erik, "that certainly is a trait to go for."

The mirror surface begins shimmering.

"Let's put him back to sleep again," hisses Emmanuela acidly.

"No way," Charles repeats for what appears like not the first time.

"Did you try to put a spell on me?" Erik seethes.

"That's not important right now, Erik," Charles firmly grabs his hand and drags him closer to the mirror turned into flickering display of sights and creatures Erik has heard of only in legends.

"Behold," with this the metamorphic dragon, the last of her kind, guesses Erik, shows them the walls of the huge city-state, unfortunately familiar.

Hesperia.

"I… see. We have been there recently and I haven't sensed any draconian magic. Although, well, I've been slightly incapacitated at the time," ponders Charles dejectedly.

He lowers his eyelashes, so that only a glint of blue is visible. At that, Erik feels peculiar hot anger — and he knows what makes him feel the way he does. It is, he muses, a fair price to pay for being so close to Charles. Now, he is fully aware of almost irrational existential fear, which, like a scorching chord in his blood, connects him to Charles. Charles, who is a magnet for trouble, to be honest.

"We're not quite amendable to revisiting this city," Erik states dryly.

Damn, he even sounds like Charles now.

Of course, his reasonable remark makes Charles affronted.

"I am bound by the promise, Erik. Yes, this endeavor might be challenging, but there is nothing impossible. Unfortunately, ancient human cities, especially those founded after the great magic wars, used to be erected on the barriers protecting their boundaries from dragons and their kind."

"I would have done it myself, if I could," says the dragon steadily and brushes away her impressive mane in weird coquettish fashion.

"What makes you think that looking like a court lady is a wise choice if you intend to blend in?"

Erik berates himself for misplaced curiosity, but the words are already out.

"I fancied her long, long time ago," she replies with a hint of idle detachment. "Since Charles set me free from the seal, I am paying tribute to Emmanuela's memory by replicating her to the finest detail, mortal."

That was awkward even by Erik's standards; therefore, he decides to keep his mouth shut.

"We shall be searching for it very carefully," Charles swallows and clears his throat. "I rather imagine you want it back."

"I rather had it destroyed," her hair turns white and she growls, revealing a neat row of fangs.

Charles, being Charles, just cocks his head at her outburst and smiles encouragingly.

"For all times you've been tricked by magic users, it is my turn to make amends."

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"Can I ask a question?

"Sure," Charles says groggily, his voice still too thick with sleep.

"How do you plan to snatch a dragon egg from under everyone's nose?"

This question has been jostling about in Charles' mind for a while. Instead of answering immediately he sighs and carefully dislodges Beast from under the folds of his sleeping cot.

Sleeping outside is less pleasant as inevitable storm season is coming.

They will need to plan their travel route in advance from now on in order to find some shelter at night.

"We should use glamour in case they are looking for us," Charles accepts a bowl of hot brew with a quiet thank you. "No need to rush in immediately, knowing nothing about the current state of affairs in the city. Reconnaissance is very welcome. And I recall I had a couple of spells for that."

Erik stops putting out fire and shakes his head, rather dramatically.

"And I thought I could reasonably predict your answer."

"You are so lucky I'm half-asleep, Erik. Thus, I won't dwell on such blatant display of distrust coming from you of all people."

Erik smirks with cool self-assuredness and Charles marvels how can that be that he sometimes wants to smack him and kiss him in equal measure.

In the afternoon they walked into a caravan of a dozen wagons, travelling north. When the caravan stopped in the valley nearby a small pond to give horses some rest, Charles had a word with Moreen, the head of hired guards. She got fairly excited when he asked whether Erik and he could join the caravan until they reach Eledia. As soon as he added that he is a magician, for Erik's identity was something people caught on to very quickly, she agreed wholeheartedly.

Charles glances back at the camping site as Erik emerges from the wagon, having put their belongings inside.

"I wonder if we should just tell them that Beast is an exotic animal and let him stay close."

"It's your choice," Erik jumps on the ground and readjusts his sword belt.

"Sometimes I think we're very unfair to poor Beast," Charles glances at Erik and comes to a stop mid-sentence.

Erik is frozen on the spot. His arm is partially raised in the air, wrist bent, as though he wants to shield his eyes from the sun. His handsome face is slightly pinched and his eyes are narrowed. Not a blink.

Charles looks around frantically and notices that the same happened to everyone around.

People and animals are strangely still, caught in awkward posing.

For perhaps two heartbeats, Charles is completely at a loss.

Then, he unleashes a levitation spell and jumps up into the sky. Not too high, but enough to see a stranger in dark red cloak, approaching from the west, already stepping within the circle formed by wagons.

Charles forces himself to clear his mind and plummets down, right in front of the approaching mage.

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	13. Chapter 13

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"Back off," says the man.

Condescension runs under each syllable.

Charles can see him now: a stately, tall fellow with long white hair. There is something wrong with him — as if his fine features are visible through the nonexistent fog. In terms of magical presence this person is emitting an aura he can't quite pinpoint.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Charles asks, infusing his voice with ice.

He genuinely thinks he is ready for any attack, until the spell hits his hastily erected shield with such force, that he stumbles backwards.

After dispersing it, Charles counterattacks with his own lightning, but it bounces off and one of the wagons catches fire. It is too dangerous to engage him here — pulses a frantic thought. While Charles avoids another fireball by simply darting to the side, his memory helpfully unfolds a manuscript on mental magic net. If this is what has happened to Erik and the others, this mage is unbelievably powerful, being able to draw from flow on so many levels.

"Know your place," the man states meanwhile, brushing off Charles' attempt at air spear away. "I shall kill you later."

"You are the one behind those bandits chasing us."

Attentively, he watches the stranger. For he mostly hunts for affirmative reaction to his bold statement and, he thinks, he gets one.

Unfortunately, his lack of concentration earns him a deep cut to his shoulder, but at least during their brief fight he succeeded in backing off from the wagons to the mesa.

Almost back on the tract.

Charles grabs then his injured shoulder, sopping up some blood, and quickly slaps his blooded palm on the ground.

Bloody red crystals pierce the terrain and encircle his opponent before he can blink. Yet, Charles can hardly catch a breath, as the improvised barrier shatters.

He ducks down, as though to avoid falling debris, but, when the mage advances, he meets him heads on with dark matter pulsing in his hands.

So close.

If his eyes aren't deceiving him, there is a flash of fearful recognition on the man's face.

However, it's gone as soon as he catches Charles' wrist and the snap that follows forces Charles to scream. His vision temporarily whites out from pain and he comes to his senses already lying on the ground. Through cloud of dust and smoke he takes in the eye watering sight of the mesa with a neat gap in between the rocks.

There goes his ace spell.

A large shadow suddenly emerges from the dust screen. It is blue and furry and before Charles even thinks of calling Beast, because he would have recognized it in any form, the shadow leaps to the side with a furious roar.

Having decided to use an opportunity, Charles calls forth earth element and the ground immediately splits open, pointed rocks rise up and up, right on the spot where he detects the other's presence. Until he feels a pang in his chest — a first sign of rapidly draining reserves.

Devoid of ability to see clearly, Charles' heart literally stops when the roaring cuts off abruptly.

Oh, please, don't be dead, don't be dead.

Even with warning bells going off in his head, he decides to try one more time. It's a pity, healing spell works so slowly, only numbing pain in his broken wrist.

Even nature is not on his side today.

Wind is very quick to snatch the protective cloud of dust away.

Charles looks up in trepidation, as he struggles back on his feet.

For once, the man is standing still, his red cloak flopping in the sudden strong wind.

He refrains from anything big, realizes Charles. For some reason this person decided that Charles is not worth any effort. Heaven bless his arrogance.

That's when Charles learns how wrong he was, as the man suddenly disappears and reappears right in front of him. Next, Charles' back collides against the rock and in a blink he is down on the ground again, curled up in on himself and desperate to draw in some air. Words escape his panicking self, yet he is stubbornly weaving that very spell again. Owning to some miracle, Charles gets up to his knees. He is awfully dizzy. The nauseating taste of blood in his mouth doesn't aid any focus too.

"Your generation is rather foolish. It's a surprise when someone like you tries to use something like Exorsus Blade, and yet, you cannot even master it properly," the mage pauses.

An invisible force yanks Charles up in the air. He senses his muscles and bones protesting. His back is the worst — spine strung so much, that he is afraid it may snap any moment now.

Charles somehow gulps down a moan rising up his throat.

Fighting the urge to surrender to pain and scream himself hoarse, he trains his eyes on the man's swaying face.

"Why quiet so suddenly?" the mage prods, as invisible bonds tighten, especially around Charles' neck.

Tipping his head back under the pressure, Charles strains to make eye-contact, and, the very moment their eyes meet, he drains his reserves to the limit. The darkness which descends upon his eyes wipes the haughty look off the mage's face.

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Bolting after Erik was not necessary, but Moreen did that anyway, after screaming at her people to put down the fire.

That must have been some kind of spell.

Erik couldn't stand not knowing, so he ran faster.

The split mesa and mangled, torn terrain, all burned black, looked very, very bad. Rocks were scattered everywhere, as though ripped out from the depth of the land by giants. Also, they were dangerously sharpened, most likely on purpose. That hardly helped running.

"Hey, Erik! I swear I saw something blue over there."

Incredulous, Erik turns back around on his heels, wondering what the hell she meant.

He gazes at her, ready to snap, but reconsiders.

She is pointing at the bottom of a tall protruding rock.

Blue? Ah, yes. Yes, of course.

When he discovers Beast, nearly flattened by the rock, he inexplicably feels a jab of guilt.

Even demon was there for Charles when Erik wasn't.

Under Moreen's curious stare he slices the stone without breaking a sweat and crouches to pick up Charles' pet monster. Beast looks like an extremely rumpled fur ball, featuring burned spots, and when Erik cautiously pokes it, nothing happens.

"Take it, it doesn't bite," Erik passes Beast to Moreen, mentally adding … _I guess_.

"What is it? Why should I take it, anyway?" she protests, which actually raises her credibility in Erik's eyes.

"It is a demon from the other side. Thankfully or not, it developed unhealthy devotion for my friend, so it is just tagging along wherever we go."

"Right," she scowls. "Unfortunately for you, I've seen pure-bloods and they look nothing like that."

"As you say," agrees Erik promptly and thrusts Beast into her hands. "This is an almost certainly deceased pet, so how about showing some respect? Just grab it and let's go."

It is hardly a concern of his that people have no appreciation for truth.

Erik finds himself teetering on the brink of sea of dread and relief when he spots Charles. He appears to be lying on the ground, almost spread-eagled and upon coming closer Erik notices that his eyes, so very, very blue, are wide-open.

"Charles," he calls after coming to an abrupt stop and feels the cold retreat a little when Charles turns his head, only slightly, so that their eyes align.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Erik drops to his knees beside him and takes in multiple scratches, awkwardly bent wrist and the entire sleeve of white shirt painted red and clinging to Charles like second skin.

Charles' eyes are clearly saying no.

His silence is disturbing, although Erik is more worried by the fact Charles is just lying there, very white and still, while Erik runs his hands over him to determine where else he is hurt.

Moreen cusses at something behind his back.

"Shit, is it… Erik, have a look."

At that he turns around, quietly cursing Moreen and partially himself for neglecting his customary surroundings check.

Moreen is prodding at some rags with the tip of her sword. As she does that, the gust of wind swirls up black ashes and they dance in the air before another, stronger waff blows them away.

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Storm is raging outside.

Every single time when the wind attacks wagon's cover, Erik thinks — that's it, now it will tear down our shelter. But the rags making up cover are apparently more durable than they look.

Moreen put them in the one containing the caravan's provisions and other belongings, so there was too little space for two grown men, but Erik wouldn't have done even that much for some trouble-making strangers.

Right now, Erik has nothing to do.

He is sitting cross-legged on the wood floor and watching a metal cup, suspended on a pole, burning sweet-smelling oil.

Flickering flame grants some colour to Charles' deathly complexion. Before storm started, Erik hastily settled Charles down on one of their much-worn sleeping cots and covered him with furskin he discovered among bales.

Today, Erik had a day full of shocks and frantic repairs, and even more frantic run from the coming storm, which, had it caught them anywhere but the encampment, would threaten to flood their caravan with glazed rain.

Erik's patience is rewarded when Charles stirs, and blindly fumbles for something with his uninjured hand. The broken one was fixed in weird contraption by the herborist, travelling with caravan. Moving very carefully, Erik scoots over to Charles and presses his shoulders down, preventing him from rolling onto his side and jarring his wound.

"Hey, Charles. Don't move too much."

Charles' open eyes are huge, that is until they roam all over Erik in half-darkness and he gradually calms down.

He reaches out a hand and touches Erik's face.

"Sorry, couldn't talk," Charles murmurs feebly. "Never had a backlash impact my speech before."

"Who was it? How did you kill him?"

The drumming of the rain partially blankets Charles' voice, quiet as it is, but when Charles arrives at the part when he got trapped, Erik leans in.

"He called my spell the Exorsus Blade," Erik thinks of the one that cuts through everything and reckons that the name is fitting. He nods, and Charles goes on. "I was out of options. You… you must recall me using it to banish the demon when we first met, and you must recall how exhausted I was afterwards. I couldn't even imagine using it twice in a row before today. So, I wasn't able to move an inch and he was evidently going to murder me. Mocking and so, uh, condescending to me… Now, I believe he was dragging it on purpose."

"Charles, you did very well. It's over," Erik says logically as he strokes hair out of Charles' face. And frowns at the chill of his skin.

"Oh, no. Far from it, Erik," Charles shuts his eyes.

Erik is holding his breath when Charles looks up at him again.

"So I thought that was my last chance, and then I turned the flow inwards…"

Charles' words make little sense to Erik: something about manipulating spell patterns. Probably.

"…it turns out I can embody it for a split moment. Right now I understand why it acted like a mirror under the circumstances. Only, when I looked into his eyes, his soul was elsewhere, Erik. What turned into dust was most likely a very good puppet," Charles whispers. "Sentient and powerful. In the image and likeness of its' master."

Erik lets out a bitter sigh.

"I have very basic understanding of this sorcery stuff. But you are the strongest mage I've ever come across. It always makes me wonder… well, it doesn't matter… But if you're not wrong about him, about what he is, and we both know, that he is looking for me —"

"Erik," Charles shakes his head vehemently. "Don't. I am not leaving you."

He looks so utterly worn and too young for the mess he found himself in. Too late for both of them, because Erik is, rather miraculously, firmly and unquestionably devoted to him. And being a selfish bastard he would be damned before he lets Charles go.

"Erik?" Charles asks, hesitant.

Apparently, he has been silent too long.

"No, I don't want you to leave, because I'm a bad person — I want you for myself. But, no, be quiet," he puts his finger to Charles' lips, silencing his protests, and Charles rolls his eyes. "Next time, if we encounter him or his cronies, we run. Without any delay and second thoughts. And, Charles," he groans inside — there used to be one thing, this one thing he thought he would never ever wish for, "will you teach me magic?"

"Yes! One hundred times yes," Charles gasps in delight and his entire face lights up from inside.

That should go smoothly, right?

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	14. Chapter 14

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This grassy clearing will do — decides Charles, bracing himself against the tree. He can't go on walking even if he tries, to be honest, but Erik doesn't need to know that. A lovely wide stub is waiting just a few paces ahead. Charles looks at it wistfully and grits his teeth.

Come on, body, three or four steps and I promise you a well-deserved rest.

"Bloody flying pests," grumbles Erik from behind his back, "I told them to stay away. Why don't they stay away?"

Over Erik's embarrassment, Charles taxes his resolve and glances back. Too grotesque not to stare, really. Erik has been strolling through the forest accompanied by a bunch of playful fairies, mimicking his brusque movements and pretending to flee at his dark stares and occasional curses. The tiniest of them have started dancing in merry circle just over his head and moving in perfect unison with every step. Fairies made it pretty clear that they were not leaving Erik be.

In attempt to hide his grin, Charles has no alternative but to stagger ahead. He sinks upon the edge of the stub, propping himself with his left hand. Not used to sling, rubbing at his neck through his shirt collar, he winces when he tries to fix it.

"You are in pain again," Erik observes, crouching in front of him. "Here, try this. You must chew it to alleviate pain. I don't recommend swallowing though."

Charles cautiously takes some dry crooked root Erik fished out of his inner pocket.

"This is the first and most valuable lesson. Don't you ever overestimate your abilities," Charles learns that the root is very sweet.

Erik's coy smile is accompanied by a snort.

"If you must know, to summon Exorsus Blade you need tremendous amounts of power and control," Charles feels a tad fired up. "High dark magic differs from elemental or spiritual spells. Besides, I only tried this spell for the third time — backlashes get less awful, by the way. When I tested it for the first time the consequences were ten times as horrible. Also, don't forget that I used it twice this once… Well, desperate times call for desperate measures."

"That's absolutely fine, Charles. You didn't have a choice then. When will you recover?"

"I already feel better. Well, better than yesterday, for sure," corrects himself Charles, vividly recalling how he was unable to take a step without Erik's aid. "First and foremost, I want to introduce you to the flow."

Heedless of deeply concealed worry in Erik's eyes, Charles opens his mind to eternal current around them. He doesn't intend to dip from his drained reserves too much, for it feels akin to picking at open wound. Even his life force is elusive, uneven presence, too fragile right now to his careful mental touch.

Meanwhile, fairies swoop down and up, as Erik attempts to flap a couple and fails. Charles knows that Erik could probably catch them barehanded, if he wanted. Charles also firmly believes, in a place beyond questioning, that meaningless violence is not in Erik's nature. This goodness in him will probably stay undefined and unmentioned, but no less precious because of that.

"You may try to ignore them. They should get bored quickly," offers Charles breathlessly, fighting off insistent exhaustion and loosing.

"Thank you very little for your advice," Erik purposefully doesn't look anywhere but Charles' face. "Let's go back, Charles, come on. You are in no shape to walk, let alone teach anything at the moment."

His words bring together opposite emotions, but really settle the matter.

"Damn backlashes," Charles gives up. "Alright, you win this round."

Erik takes his hand without a word and helps him up.

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It is a crisp, clear night, the first of this kind in storm season. Erik is on guarding duty tonight, so Charles, unable to fall asleep inside the wagon, bundles up and slides out carefully. He comes within sight of the campfire and Erik looks up and immediately relaxes upon noticing him.

"Why are you alone?" wonders Charles.

"Because," replies Erik empathetically.

Why in the world nobody agrees to share shifts with Erik is a mystery. Charles, to his deep discomposure, discovered that people from the caravan, except for Moreen, seem to scatter away whenever Erik and he are nearby. An image of the hideously torn valley comes to mind, leaving Charles to wince inwardly.

"Well," Charles offers hastily, "since I am already here, we can… Erik, what's that over there, behind your back?"

With an air of wariness, Erik turns in the direction Charles is pointing to.

"A shovel," Erik is perfectly composed.

Charles narrows his eyes suspiciously. He stalks to the bundle of rags, and unfolds them with a thought and a flick of his wrist before Erik can stop him.

"Erik! How could you!" Charles hisses upon uncovering familiar blue shape.

Careful, he cradles Beast to his chest. His not quite healed arm is complaining, but Charles is too overcome with fierce determination to pay attention to meager ailments. He settled Beast in the basket this afternoon, in the depth of their wagon, attempting to hide the small demon from too curious Moreen.

And now this.

"I didn't want to upset you," Erik doesn't even have the decency to argue.

"You wanted to bury Beast while I was asleep! Gods, sometimes I think I don't know you at all," Charles croaks, while initial shock and frustration digest themselves.

"Dead things must be disposed of. Also, your persistent refusal to call dead things dead is unhealthy and worrisome."

"But… but there is certainly a chance that once my magic is properly restored, Beast may wake up."

Charles has no doubt at that point, that Erik regards him with slight pity. It gives Charles' chest a painful constricting feeling, so, pressing Beast tighter, and not wishing to get into pointless dispute, he turns on his heels. It is then, when the abrupt disturbance in magic flow overtakes him. Previously, Charles went so far to open himself to the flow in order to recover faster, that the shift struck him like a lightning would have. Hot and blinding flood tears through his sore senses. No wonder that his knees buckle.

"Charles!"

Erik rushes to him instantaneously and Charles is grateful that Erik makes a steady pillar he can sag down against.

"It's just some disturbance. It'll pass," he mutters as Erik flings an arm around his shoulders and steers him in the direction of their wagon.

"Disturbance?"

"Some shift in the flow."

Charles tries to breathe evenly, though it doesn't turn his voice less choked.

"I'm so tired of being like this. If only you knew."

Early in the time of their relationship, he wouldn't think of revealing anything of the sort, especially to hardly ever complaining Erik.

"It's only been four days. Come on, give the demon to me," Erik extricates Beast from Charles' miserably weak grip. "I'm going to put it inside, don't fret. We shall keep our zombie pet. Well, unless it starts to smell."

"I'm not going to create zombies," Charles protests faintly.

"I'm counting my blessings," Erik patted his shoulder to take the sting out of his remark.

After Erik leaves him inside, he chooses to lay down and nestle into covers, hoping to catch up on sleep. He eventually got used to a crammed space, so now his bedding started to seem cozy. Again, cozy in the specific sense. Some time passes, before a steady lull drags him under, but, alas, as soon as the edge of cover gets lifted, letting in night chill, his dream retreats. Charles groans, turning on his back and addressing shadowy darkness:

"Erik? If you need light, just tell me. I'm awake anyway."

Once a shadow moves further in, Charles, on level beyond his comprehension, realizes that something is amiss. Jerking back, he is ready to yelp, but a palm placed over his mouth prevents him from doing so.

"Charles, it's Moreen. Please, don't make any noise," he hears a whisper.

Hating his heart for breaking into galloping, Charles whispers back when she lets him:

"You might have become a cause of a few grey streaks."

His weak illumination spell lights up the wagon, just as Erik flops back the cover. A dagger is glinting ominously in his hand and Erik looks decisively murderous. Charles considers Moreen sprawled on top of him and his own hand grabbing her neck — he must have grabbed her at random, while panicking.

The question is — how more unequivocal could this picture be?

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Sleepy and disheveled, and too wild-eyed not to evoke concerned response, Charles stutters:

"Erik? You are probably wondering what is going on."

Moreen shoots Erik a look and carefully crabs away from Charles.

"This is hardly a riddle, I wager."

"You are going to be surprised, then."

"I think not. Fire away."

"Ehem," Moreen pointedly clears her throat and graces Erik with another sharp stare. "Can you lock antlers later? After, you know, I tell you, that you two need to leave as soon as possible, because my employer was told by his employer, that some unhinged extremist is looking for you and has, in all probability, traced you here."

"Nothing of note," Erik sheaths the dagger. "You are with Alliance, right? And your real name is not Moreen."

She tsks and whips her solid braid back in so clear a yes, as it only can be said without saying anything.

Charles' wild blue eyes, made wilder still by the end of their little exchange, are, for now, the only manifestation of his utter perplexity.

"I was careless the other day, dropped a bag with our magical maps and other stuff in the river."

"Bother," says Erik tonelessly.

"I know," she moves to slide past Erik and into the night with fluidity that never really shown through.

Brief silence after her departure is broken by Charles.

"So Prince James is watching out for us?"

"More like watching us."

"We evidently encountered this caravan by accident," Charles sits up and rubs his hands thoroughly through his hair. "Because it can't be more maddeningly complicated than it actually is."

Erik gropes for the bag, their surprise benefactor mentioned earlier, and quickly looks through contents. The spy network of Alliance was legendary in certain circles, but he used to mistake these persistent bits of gossip for exaggerations. He gazes at Charles, whose fatigue is outlined by low, warm light of his magic sphere.

"Think you are up to a march of two leagues? The nearest town is upstream, not far, but," Erik hesitates in sympathy.

Upon hearing him, Charles adopts a resolute look, which could have been more impressive, had it not clashed with his messed up hair and utterly discernible imprint of make-shift pillow on his cheek.

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A loud snapping sound follows, so Erik releases his headlock on the jerk's neck.

"Heavens above! Erik!"

"What? I just don't want to clean the blade afterwards," Erik huffs with a shrug and a roll of his right shoulder, as he steps over the fallen bandit. "The humidity is high as it is, and blood may cause rust."

"Your sword doesn't age," grumbles Charles.

"In such proximity, I'd rather not risk using it and hurting you by accident. Dagger, however, is out of question, unless you want to take up cleaning it."

"No, thank you," Charles looks like he is going to be sick.

A chasm, they have decided to use as a shortcut is apparently full of bandits. Erik darts a look over his shoulder, where the whites of bones, peaking from underneath stones, hint at the continuity of the sneak-and-murder trade in this area. How many travelers disappeared in these parts will forever remain a mystery.

They stop to rest in the shadow thrown by the boulder, almost at the edge of the cliff overlooking the valley.

Charles is taking a squint at the map, spread on his lap.

"There, we will be able to help Beast, finally. The Well of Healing must be over that river, somewhere in the Mirk Forest."

"The name itself speaks volumes," Erik murmurs.

"Don't be so picksome."

"I have heard of it before, Charles. No one goes there because it is bedeviled."

"Well, I have been told I'm talented when it comes to magic," Charles says matter-of-factly and smiles.

Erik is impressed by sheer self-adjusting buoyancy.

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	15. Chapter 15

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The Mirk Forest is not particularly mirky per se. An edge of the majestic woodland is blanketed by wandering mist, but that's to be expected in this area. Charles is quietly admiring a friendly-looking arch on the pathway into the depths of the forest, depicting elegant elven guardians and covered with thick, thorny vines. The artist must have been a genius. It boggles Charles' mind how different it is from what Erik described.

"It is so beautiful. I wish I could see it… how it used to be," Charles has to pull at Erik's arm until he gets his attention. "Erik, what are you looking at? You seem distraught."

Erik's eyes shift from the statues to him.

"I suggest you turn down your excitement. Or is cemetery style your new favorite pursuit?"

"What are you talking about?"

Instead of answering, Erik puts on a non-perturbed mask and thus ends the conversation.

Charles is having none of it, though.

"Look here, if there is any illusion you are seeing, let me know," Charles trails after him, but Erik is walking faster and faster. "Erik, come on, slow down. Why are you overreacting like this? And why now? Erik!"

Charles' eyes grow strangely irritated and he rubs at them. Mist is getting closer. Now, he can hardly see Erik through the gap in the trees. To his shock, Charles loses the sight of him in a blink, as mist attacks full force, coating everything in dense whiteness.

It makes no sense — Charles stops and tries to reason. Erik wouldn't act like that: he always stays close on purpose, more so after the recent incident. Charles remains on the same spot, acutely feeling how his palms become sweaty and mouth gets dry. He couldn't have been more right about illusion — but with one exception — he is trapped in one himself.

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"We're almost here, Erik," Charles takes his hand and grins. "Isn't it lovely?"

Nestled within a clearing, there is an ancient temple, an elusive masterpiece hidden from the world. Its' silver steeple is reflecting sunlight back into Erik's eyes. His vision blurs for a brief moment. His hearing is strangely delayed as his mind processes words said to him.

"Let's go straight to the Well," Charles can't hide the anticipation in his voice.

He squeezes Erik's hand empathetically.

His skin is warm and very pleasant to touch, notes Erik in a daze. Unlike recently, Charles is extremely enthusiastic today. His joy upon discovering the place spills over and intoxicates Erik like the strongest of spirits. He has seen Charles exhausted and somber, laughing and having fun, has seen him scared and has seen him delighted, has seen him angry and happily content, yet no dim memory compares to the way he looks today, in this moment. It dawns upon Erik that he will do whatever is asked of him, he will forever follow Charles' lead regardless of…

"Erik! You might want to duck!"

Charles' alarmed scream comes from behind.

Erik does not think.

He drops to the ground and rolls over, just when a large fire vortex roars to life on the very spot he was standing.

As Charles ushers him up, Erik stands, swaying slightly. Blearily, he squints at the distorted shape screeching in the fire. Its' long, thin tentacles are reaching for him. Erik jerks back as the thing, very recently looking like perfect Charles, utters a shrill sound cutting him straight to the bone.

"Charles, what is going on?"

"We've been caught up in the illusion courtesy of these curious creatures," Charles points to the red spot on his own neck, just below his jawline. "The mosquitoes bite their soon-to-be victims, I believe, and once the poison befuddles your senses, you get lost in your own mind and get yourself a personal parasite guide. The one which is burning right now."

Charles' revelation does little to help Erik get over the urge to gag.

He blinks at Charles, startled, when the other shakes him slightly.

"Erik, don't fall asleep! Look ahead," Charles speaks roughly and quickly, "we have to get rid of the queen first."

Through the gap in the trees Erik sees something pinkish and huge, nestled within the clearing, and, also, dozens upon dozens of grey creatures flowing together to circle Charles and him. The dog-sized centipedery shapes flicker before his eyes until Charles takes his head in his hands and digs his fingers into Erik's temples.

"Sorry, it may sting," tells him Charles and Erik hisses, because it does sting, indeed.

"Better?"

"Just wonderful," quips Erik, feeling the confusing vertigo and nausea retreat.

"Good," Charles flicks his hand and the wave of monsters smashes against the silver semi sphere of his shield. "Listen, I need you to buy me a few moments — "

"Hold on! That spell has nearly killed you — "

"I know, that's why I intend to use a different one," the shield resonates with a dull bang and Charles offers him a somewhat strained smile. "I seldom use it because, well, you'll see. But, I swear, it is not as taxing as the dark one. Ready?"

"You know me. I live for slaying monsters to buy you time."

With this said, Erik pulls out his sword and slides into the guarding stance in front of Charles.

Time slows down almost to a halt when Charles drops the shield.

"I summon and abjure thee, from the deepest reaches of beyond…" barely catches Erik before jumping into action.

Monsters come in a crazy flurry as Erik mows them again and again, to the point that the stack of fallen creatures starts forming a natural barricade. Their sleek elongated bodies are mounting atop of each other, again and again. It's a blunt, messy job, and when Charles elbows him aside, Erik is more than eager to lower the sword.

A beam of red light zips through the forest, aimed directly at the pinkish shape visible through the gap, and before Erik can scoff sardonically something along the lines of — is that all — the beam grows impossibly large. It explodes and Erik regrets driving his sword into the ground the moment he does it to maintain his footing. He forgets, so the sword dives in too easily and thus the heat wave forces Erik on his knees. And makes him temporarily deaf and blind, but that goes without saying.

Not only monsters around them, but the forest itself gets _wiped_ with fire — trees torn and tossed in the air with the force of the blast. Now, Charles is standing right on the edge of the deep trench in the ground, which successfully cuts bold and smoking remnants of the forest in two.

"Farewell, the Mirk Forest," sums up Erik, coming to stand by Charles.

Cinder and dust are slowly spiraling down from the sky.

Charles squints at him. He looks rather funny — with dark smudges on his cheeks and forehead.

"You see now," Charles sighs and desperately gestures at the smoldering wasteland. Then, he calls out all of the sudden. "Oh, there is one tentacle left. Brilliant!"

And, definitely, there is a bit of the pinkish appendage left, half buried by the blackened fallen tree.

The feeling prickling at Erik is not a new one, by all means.

"I'd like to…"

Under the layer of grime, Charles' cheeks flush a fraction: perhaps, earlier on, Erik wouldn't have noticed this tiny change at all.

"You'd like to?" echoes Erik, though he should know better.

"Dissect it," says Charles sheepishly.

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Thankfully, Erik didn't try to contradict him as Charles, one more time, finds himself pulled by his curiosity. He never really expected to be driven to this particular field, to the natural science itself. Eventually, Charles came to conclusion that he's better off with a sketch book. There is always something to be said about keeping the account of the journey. Now, with all fine details of the parasitic limb inner design committed to memory, Charles welcomed soothing calm of walking again.

Since Beast regained his senses, the demon is perched on top of backpack Erik is carrying. And while Erik denies a rush of sentimentality, which inevitably accompanied their companion's revival, Charles can tell that he is relieved.

Late in the evening, they come across a lonely windmill. Seeing as it is very clean and well maintained inside, they're undoubtedly overstepping their bounds. However, Erik doesn't care much, so Charles, spoiled by Erik's rough road philosophy, chooses to make an exception this once.

Outside, rain beats down hard.

Crackling fire and relaxing warmth make Charles drowsy. He doesn't want to fall asleep — the night is too good to give it up. When he leans against Erik's shoulder the residual tension flows out of him; it dissolves into the comfort of Erik's presence. Because the moment seems to allow it, Charles prods, turning to face Erik:

"I've been thinking —"

"Of practicing necromancy? Spare me, I already know. Whatever floats your boat, Charles."

Charles can't but chuckle, especially when he actually pictures himself steering a boat made of bones through a river of blood. That image could illustrate the most insistent prejudice regarding dark arts.

"I confess, I've been thinking about that as well, but I meant something different," Charles pauses. "Of course, I don't want to push. Although it would be great if we could come back to my home town for a little while, after we deal with Emma's egg."

Erik takes long to speak.

"We can, I suppose," he nods finally, staring into the fire.

And though his reply is not that enthusiastic, Charles is glad. After all, perfect is the enemy of good.

"All right. I've been neglecting your request for a while now. I apologize. Whatever magic art you're going to master, theory comes first. And, I believe, you already have the sketchy account of the basics."

"You can be very talkative at times, you know. I wouldn't call it "a sketchy account", rather a full nomenclature list," Erik masks his curiosity well, but he has taken Charles' spontaneous lectures seriously. To prove it, he dutifully recites. "Magic is common in our world since prehistoric times. Like usual, when supreme gods decided to slice and dice the realm yet another time, the great divine war broke out. Draconian deities succeeded in exterminating the Lord of Chaos and thus exiling his allies, demonic deities, into the lifeless domain. In order to prevent their return, the Prime Teraph has sacrificed herself by using the remains of her magic to erect protective barrier — called velum. The majority of draconian deities died during that battle, but their magic became the gift for the realm, mainly for lucky elves and humans."

"Very good," approves Charles. "What do you remember about the diversity of magic?"

"White, dark and elemental. White is obviously all about healing, exorcism, divination and other spiritual stuff. You perform elemental when you're too lazy to start a fire like all we do or when you want some ice in your drink."

"By the way, I can refrain from particular magical activities from now on," says Charles sweetly. "If you don't wish to go on, that is."

"You're no fun these days, oh teacher mine," Erik exhales loudly.

"I always am."

"Elemental magic exploits fire, wind, earth, water and lightning," recites Erik languidly, "Dark magic, on the contrary, draws upon demonic powers. Therefore, it is the most volatile and challenging and yet the most destructive. May I ask a question, your Ruthlessness?"

"You may."

"What kind of spell did you use in the forest?"

"It's a combination of elemental and dark magic, an invention of mine. You see, a few years ago I was very keen on experimenting with spell patterns."

"You do understand that from now on you'll forever owe nature."

A fair point, even when Charles takes into account Erik's particular brand of humor.

"I shall call this spell in honor of the Mirk Forest," rattles off Charles deliberately lightly. "How does Mirkblast sound to you?"

"I think it should be Mirkdeath or Mirkslay."

"Mirkdeath is too ominous."

"Mirkslay it is, then."

Erik deserves more than a pat on the back for his attempt to distract him. He is lucky that Charles is feeling generous tonight. Smiling, he withdraws and leans back.

"And now, time for the practical part."

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	16. Chapter 16

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Usually, Charles doesn't fare well under midday sun, that's why they tend to spend two or three hours of peak heat in shelters generously provided by nature. Besides, it had rained all night and the sun is simply blasting away and the ground is steaming. Luckily, oak trees offer plenty of pleasant shade and the stream winding down the hill nearby is a splendid addition to their resting place. However, afternoon is still too hot, not so gently coaxing them out of capes and jackets. Erik is purposefully not looking at Charles. He is sitting cross-legged on folded cape and sharpening his dagger in meditative daze.

"Erik, let's try one more time."

"No."

"Don't be upset. Not everyone masters magic arts from the first try."

"First?"

"I stopped counting, eventually," hums Charles quietly, but his voice gains confidence when he goes on. "I don't understand why you're disappointed. Calling forth elements and bending demonic energy to your will is not easy and I constantly remind you that you have inclination to magic. You can feel the flow and almost read the patterns. That's what makes you so good at killing ma… No, no, no! Can't believe I've just used that as an argument."

As badly as he is tempted to tell Charles to leave him alone, Erik realizes, intellectually, that Charles rebuking himself over teaching failure is better than Charles devastated by cold dismissal. It is all about a thin line between both.

"Of course, we might have started with the wrong premise altogether. And this, Erik, is entirely my fault."

Now it has begun, cringes Erik inwardly.

Beast dares snug closer to him, despite the dagger, also curious. Erik thinks that the demon is on his side this time, though it can't voice its' support. Erik gives Beast a nod of approval and, he believes, he gets one in return.

"All right, then," Erik reluctantly gives in. "What do you suggest?"

"Have a go with white magic."

Charles clasps his hands together and forms a silver sphere, which he then tosses up in the air, where it bursts into shiny sparks. Beast prudently rolls away from falling lights. The ones coming into touch with Erik's skin immediately wash away dull tension he has been harboring since morning. In defiance of all failures, Erik feels like smiling and basking in the pleasant warmth, all worries forgotten.

"How," he forces himself to stop beaming like a happy loon, "how exactly can this help me on the battlefield? Or do you picture me carrying around a crystal ball or sacral staff? Or entertaining scum on carnivals and funfairs?"

Charles is looking at him as through he understands everything unsaid. If he is earnest, Erik hates himself a little bit for his jealousy of Charles' overwhelming powers. The more he learns about magic from Charles the more impressed he becomes.

"I don't understand why you are not some archimage or grandmaster. Knowing what you can do," Erik finishes bitterly and realizes a touch too late how pathetic that came out.

"Oh, I'm not interested in fancy titles," Charles protests, "but constant dismissal is extremely vexing at times. Speaking of which, don't dismiss white magic until you try it. It can be a very powerful asset."

"I'm not the most accomplished of students."

"Well, you're diligent at least."

Erik expected him to deny that, but, well, whatever.

"Fine. I'd like to try, Charles. Bring it on."

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When Erik wakes up, in bed in the inn, and shoves Beast off his pillow — the thing never learns — he wonders why his fight instincts are screaming. One candle on the mantel piece is still flickering, while the rest have already melted into bunchy puddles. A window is shut and rain taps away on the glass.

A plush armchair is partially turned towards window and Charles' white sleeve is discernible in the dark — good give-away of his position.

He was making notes when Erik went to bed and, it seemed like he nodded off right there. It should seem — Erik corrects himself and darts to Charles' side, propelled by worry. The open sketchbook is on Charles' lap, unheeded, while his head is thrown back and his closed eyes suggest that he is fast asleep. Erik shakes him, calling his name, and leans closer to get a good look at Charles. There is a slight wheeze to his breathing, but it's nothing unusual.

Nevertheless, Charles doesn't even stir after his increasingly rough attempts to wake him up.

It is that alien magic again.

Constant exercises might have been more futile, that anything, but they certainly sharpened his perception of the flow, which he, unknowingly, used to attribute to his gut feeling. In reality, experiencing the disturbance in the flow is akin to sticking one's head out of the window into the storm raging outside. Erik's skin is prickling all over. He wonders what is it that Charles is fighting against on the plane unavailable for him.

An abrupt shudder suddenly rattles Charles' frame and his breathing grows more erratic.

Beast starts jumping up and down, bumping against his elbow, and Erik feels the urge to swat it.

"Cut it out, Bouncy! I know I have to do something!"

This evening he's felt quite accomplished when he managed to cast a weak healing spell. The spell in question was only good enough for bruises, lasted a few heartbeats, but still, it was something.

As per usual, the worst things don't happen when you're ahead of your game.

One more look at Charles' now twisted features brings his heartbeat up when he notices blood seeping from his nose, down his upper lip and quickly pooling in the crease of his mouth.

In a helpless rage, he drops to his knees and tries to cast the healing spell. It doesn't work. And Erik knows why — because his mindset it wrong. But, alas, knowing does no good. Although, it does make him angrier.

Beast doesn't stop its' mad jumping.

Charles looks like he is in pain.

Erik is ready to snap and squash the nasty fur ball.

When a sorcerer is desperate, they tap into their own life force, recalls Erik. The depletion of reserves is gross, but the speed and effectiveness of spell work increases a great deal.

Despair? He can do despair.

Word by word he follows Charles' late instructions, and when he stumbles, he tries one more time. This once something stirs inside him, he imagines it as amorphous fire gleaming in the dark pit and he reaches for it with everything he has. His emotions grow wired simultaneously, but Erik ignores them in favor of touching that fire.

Something crashes, right behind his back, Beast growls, and then — silence.

He pins shaking Charles to the armchair with glowing hands. He feels collected. Detached, but in a calm way. And he feels magic flowing through him, recognizes the sensation from being on the receiving end and notes — his is too crude in comparison. He also registers phantom echo of Charles' pain and experiences the rush of delight when it gets dimmer.

A throbbing in his chest makes him release Charles. And then all energy winks out and he sags backwards, away from Charles, alone in his empty, constricting skin.

Eons pass until he gazes upward, blearily, and sees Charles flinging himself from the armchair by his side. Whatever Charles is saying makes no sense, but whatever he is doing works as Erik zones out.

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Charles frowns again and reaches out with a thought.

Nothing.

He carefully coaxes his mind back where it belongs and opens his eyes to Beast nestling on his lap.

"Not now, Beast. Sorry," he clears his throat and proclaims to trees lining the path, loudly. "Erik, I can't see you just like I thought. Come out!"

"Disengage," commands Charles.

Beast obediently bounces to the ground.

Charles smiles encouragingly.

"Why does it always listen to you?"

Genuinely startled, Charles jumps to the side, but slips on the wet ground and falls right into Erik's arms.

They shuffle, rather awkwardly, until Erik starts to let go. Charles grabs him tight, whispering furiously:

"I was right. It's as if your presence is void, or… I can't even give it a name. That's why that magician sent bandits after you, then came in person. Well, sort of. It other words, you can't be detected by magical means. Even elves are not that stealthy. It is utterly unbelievable —"

"But true."

"Ah, this is dreadful."

"How so?"

"It turns out, you could have slipped away after we first met and I wouldn't be able to find you."

"Well, well."

"Don't well-well me, Erik."

"A question?"

"Go on."

"Your astral projection interacted with me just fine? Doesn't it contradict your theory?"

"Not at all. It is different. In order not to let you escape I anchored you physically that time. A simple pat on the back is enough to do it."

Erik's left eye twitches and Charles decides that other details should be left unsaid.

Smiling deliberately lightly, Charles puts a distance between them. The smile doesn't work though, doesn't warm him from the inside. Instead, the scare of the night comes back to haunt him. He tries not to think about different what ifs. What if he was already asleep when the attack came? What if he didn't realize how to fight back properly? That was his first encounter on the metaphysical plane and he was forced to fight to survive.

And, Charles swallows, what if Erik couldn't grant him a letup in time?

"What if he continues trying to bring you down? And how can he take a life from afar? That's insane."

They are thinking along the same lines.

"Erik, I've read about similar incidents only in ancient chronicles. I don't know," he averts his gaze. He no longer trusts his own expertise.

Erik carefully sits on the stone, the only dry place in the vicinity. He is moving gingerly and deliberately slowly, as though saving every ounce of strength, and Charles feels for him like no one else.

"I'm sorry you had to go through a major backlash so soon. But, still, welcome to the party," tries to liven up mood Charles.

"It is awful," Erik cuts mercilessly, though with a hint of mild resignation. "I don't know how you people live with it. How you live with it?"

"We usually don't drain reserves that much, because in all cases it is tough to recover from, in rare cases it leads to death or disability, yet a most singular phenomenon is a boost in power. Afterwards."

"You're among lucky few."

"Apparently," shrugs Charles. "All right, Erik. Time's up! I want to be wrong, trust me, but if I am not, he definitely had sent pursuers again. I can't be sure, but —"

"Let's go," Erik's grim tone matches his expression.

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After night falls, drizzle and wind are no better than a pouring rain.

Erik is so focused on the road below, that he is only peripherally aware of anything else. When Charles also stretches on his stomach against him on the rocky ground, his fingers clench Erik's wrist.

His breath is hot upon Erik's cheek.

"In retrospect, we shouldn't have chosen the shortcut," murmurs Charles into his ear. "Do you really intend to wait out an entire storm here?"

By here he means bare cliffs looming over the road from one side and swampland from the other.

Erik gets out a yes and puts his hand atop of Charles' head, forcing him down. Charles understands and snuggles closer to Erik. Like a very big and affectionate caterpillar seeking a safe place. Through the gap in between strategically positioned stones Erik watches people pass. Torches flicker feebly in the darkness that ascends, as hanging storm clouds steal the moonlight.

Charles scoops his hand again and makes a complicated gesture, which tells Erik everything he was afraid to hear. Charles' hands are tied up, thankfully metaphorically speaking, for his magic is out of question.

The bandits hooked themselves on to them since morning, so their appearance was less a nasty shock than it could have been.

The instinct that makes him push Charles away and roll over has saved one of their lives. An arrow sticking out of the spot, where they have previously huddled, is melting stone with a hiss.

Erik jumps to his feet and to the side, pulling out a sword and cutting the incoming arrow in two.

He darts a glance at motionless Charles and sucks in a sharp breath, as he realizes that he had probably pushed him too hard.

An assassin jumps from the cliff right between Charles and he.

Of course, it is now that the backlash reminds him that he can't move like he usually does. When he tries, his chest constricts and all air rushes out of his lungs. Naturally, he misses a well-places kick to his head and then a flurry of fast and hard blows render him semi-conscious. Damn backlash intensifies meager aches to the extent that Erik blacks out. When he wins the struggle and opens his eyes, he finds himself on the ground.

The assassin picks up his fallen sword and drives it into stone, just a hair's breadth away from his neck.

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	17. Chapter 17

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"This can't be…"

His head is throbbing and Charles is reasonably afraid that he's cracked it open. He feels a bit nauseous.

A hand brushes away wet hair stuck to his face, and then another curse follows and the same hand sneaks up behind his head.

Entirely disoriented, Charles tries to muffle the helpless sounds he can't keep inside. The only thing he knows for sure — it's not Erik touching him. And an alternative is terrifying.

As much as he dreads to open his eyes, he does so, blinking through wetness sticking to his eyelashes.

It is painfully unfathomable at first, but then the splashes he sees turn into shapes.

Next, he is looking into slit-eyes, narrowed by squinting.

"Oh, thank goddess, Charles," Raven pulls the scarf covering her face down and leans closer — her lips are almost brushing his. "You had me worried there."

"Raven, where is Erik?"

He knows he means to ask, but it's shocking how slurred his speech is.

"Please, be quiet and don't move. Pretend that you're dead and let me handle this," she puts a finger to his lips and pulls the scarf back up to her eyes.

Before Charles can collect his wits, she takes a wide swing and buries a familiar sword right in the gap between his upper arm and chest, leaving Charles gaping in fear.

The flash of lightning outlines her black-clad figure.

Worrisome thoughts are chasing each other around. His aching head feels as though it might just burst, yet he rolls on his side and tries to sit up by force of will alone. Then, Charles catches sight of Raven's back and the bulky bandit leader from before. The one, who must have been dead. There are also a few strangers.

And Erik. On the ground.

Charles would scream except that his heart is caught up in his throat.

To grab Erik's sword is only an afterthought, even when the idea of actually using it makes him sick. But he absolutely must try.

Voices drift out into the night, and he is very lucky that no one looks in his direction, as he painstakingly attempts to drag his feet closer to where they are standing.

Burly is the first to notice him. He points accusing finger at Charles and bellows so loudly that the rumble of incoming storm pales in comparison.

"See! See! He can rise from dead!"

Raven whips her head around and her eyes go comically wide.

When Burly careers at him, with a roar of some big animal in peril, Charles squeezes his eyes shut, and clenches the sword like a lifeline — what do I do — I can't even open my eyes — is it… To copy Erik's evasive maneuver and step to the side is a nice idea, but, alas, the sudden jolt of getting his foot caught and he is falling over…

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Erik is pinching the bridge of his nose with tormented expression.

"If you're not feeling well, I can tell you the rest later," the quiet of the room agrees with Charles, who, personally, still feels too shaken to do anything but crawl under covers with Erik and stay there for the time being.

"No, please, go on. It is your swordsmanship. Even picturing it is painful. And I carelessly believed that "hopeless" was an overstatement."

Charles leans over to snatch a pillow and smother Erik with it, but the other is faster. Erik catches his wrist, wounds one arm around his back and yanks Charles in bed with him. Charles doesn't bother putting up any mock fight for appearance`s sake. He just wastes a moment slipping out of boots and vest before diving under covers. Erik tugs him closer again, and rolls on top, pressing Charles in between his body and mattress so viciously, that Charles feels it's necessary to reassure him again.

"Everything worked out. Sort of. We are still here, still alive, Erik. And I need to breathe sometimes to keep it like that."

Erik backs off immediately.

"Thank you."

Charles wiggles out of twisted sheets a bit and props himself up on one elbow, facing Erik.

"Thank you for healing me. Your crazy sister did a damn good job of breaking some very important bones. You can't imagine how it felt — just before I blacked out I heard her boasting about killing you. I thought — I let it happen, I didn't stop her, — and I wanted to never wake up again," finishes Erik somberly.

Charles is out of right words.

He murmurs:

"Come here," and when Erik leans in Charles kisses him.

Erik's face, only recently a bloody mess, is devoid of any traces of injury now. And Erik is staring at him intently, like memorizing. Soon, though, his expression goes from rapt to amused in a heartbeat, and his mouth is baring that suspicious sly twist again.

"So, you fell over. I humbly thank all deities that you didn't kill yourself in the process. Then what happened?"

"That man, he, well, ran into your sword," mumbles Charles, not looking Erik in the eye.

"I like your phrasing. Were you holding it vertically or horizontally?"

"Erik, please, don't ask me that!"

Erik sighs. Dramatically.

"Afterwards, Raven and Alex, you've not seen him yet — he is shopping downtown, dealt with the rest of their, er, colleagues. Beast drew up — "

"Where the hell was it when we needed it the most?"

"I presume, getting sucked in the swamp, judging by Beast's appearance. Don't be harsh. We all were not at our best."

"That's putting it mildly."

"Yeah."

Both of them share a moment of morose silence.

"And your sister?..."

"Raven was very evasive," Charles flips his head back into softness and fishes that memory up.

…Raven approaches him with her hand outstretched. It reminds Charles of the way she used to get acquainted with shy ponies. And it is not flattering in any respect that she uses that gesture and deliberately calm tone with him.

"Charles, will you put the sword down before anyone else gets hurt," she asks and throws a warning. "Alex, stay where you are."

The man in hooded cloak, whose face is hidden from view, remains unmoving.

Charles is guarding Erik and grimly waiting until Beast, unnoticed by the gang, gets far enough with the charm. Meanwhile, he is fighting a strong swaying sensation and nasty case of blurred vision.

"I think not, dear. I honestly can't lay it down, not after you were threatening Erik. Let's start from what you were doing accompanying bandits," Charles still can't believe he is doing it. The tide of concern, disbelief and terror runs over his skin. His hands gripping the handle are shaking from exhaustion and overpowering weakness.

Raven notices, despite Charles' painstaking attempts to keep his voice more or less level.

"It was a misunderstanding, Charles. I would never hurt you. Come on, drop it. You need help! You're barely standing upright."

Magic finally comes back.

Water splashes down out of the sky and immediately freezes, poised above their heads. Charles gives a watery laugh, letting go of the sword and instantly taking hold of water and wind liberally provided by the raging storm. He touches his head lightly to chase away dizziness and straightens up.

Raven, bless her, was always easily swayed by theatrics.

"I'll tell you everything later, I swear," her tone turns miraculously serious in an instant.

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This Raven.

Erik openly looks her up and down, as she's leaning against windowsill: she may seem relaxed, but she is evidently poised and tense to his trained eye. He is well aware that she is staring him down as well. Erik would be damned if he gives up a silent contest.

"Thank you so much for giving Beast a bath, Alex. Don't worry about the bite, it's not contagious," says Charles opening the door and ushering Beast and the one named Alex in.

Raven shakes off vigilance like dog shakes off water, and smiles so very sweetly.

"Charles, where did you get such cute pet?"

Charles tells her and her excitement intensifies.

"Alex," the flaxen-haired lad salutes him and throws himself into armchair next to a feebly flickering fireplace.

Erik decides that repeating his name for someone who already knows it is stupid, so he settles on a simple nod of acknowledgement.

"All present and correct," announces Charles and snaps his fingers. The sound is unexpectedly loud, causing a brief ding in ears, which, however, stops very soon.

"A precaution against overhearing," explains Charles to their wry faces.

"Some things never change," Raven grumbles in verdict.

"Well, get to the point. I see you're both new to mercenary deals, so don't bother polishing your story. Just answer the questions. Who placed an order on us? Did they find you through the guild in case you belong to one? And what made you think that killing for money goes without repercussions?" asks Erik.

"Erik, you imply — ," Charles stutters.

It's a well-played confusion and Erik smiles a little, secretly pleased.

Then, Erik sits through a brief, but rather passionate talk about responsibility, courtesy of Charles, and Raven's pathetic attempts to fill in a word. Too bad Erik doesn't feel sorry for her; his recently healed ribs and arm are not through a stage of phantom pains yet.

"I just needed some money, Charles! Besides, according to Eledian prefect, you two are Alliance spies, not to mention that you're accused of annihilation of the ancient wildlife sanctuary, practicing forbidden dark arts, setting up a peasant uprising, multiple cases of manslaughter and what not. Those in the know hint that you might be responsible for unsealing certain ancient source of magic and thus guilty of dangerous disturbances in the flow. Oh, and did you really murder the archimage of Hesperia and then burn down his tower?"

"Ah, you see…"

Charles' righteous indignation starts to waver, so Erik comes to the rescue.

"One lie always makes many," he says wisely, and turns to gaze at Raven with carefully maintained air of a deeply offended holy man. "How can you look into your brother's eyes and level such absurd accusation against a man, who wouldn't lift a finger to cause anyone any harm," Erik pauses to whip up tension and goes on bitterly. "Are you looking for truth or for justification for your dishonorable actions?"

"Charles, I'm sorry," Raven comes over to him and takes his hand and begs tentatively. "Will you forgive me? You must feel horrible. Oh my, and the friend you mentioned, so he is real."

"Of course, he is," says Charles exasperatingly and studies Raven for a while, eyes serious and sincere. "You know that you'll always have a special place in my heart, dear. I'd add no matter what you do, but, under these circumstances, let's skip this part. I'm also sorry about everything."

Erik pointedly clears his throat.

"Most of all, I'm delighted to see you," Charles opens his arms and Raven leaps in the embrace.

Deliberately ignoring Beast's expressive rolling in circles around the hugging siblings, Erik stares at Alex.

"What? Do we hug too?" groans the other.

"If you want to leave this room in one piece, I suggest not."

It appears Alex and Raven took an anonymous job, just like Erik thought. They were firmly instructed to kill the sorcerer first, and then to apprehend the swordsman. This particular lead's gone cold for them.

After they were left alone in the room, Charles started fuming, all at once:

"I can't understand why you wasted the one and only wish I owe you on making me play out your twisted scenario. Dear Raven was very distressed!"

"You put in a bit of drama, spice up with tension and accusation, and then muddle up. And in the end they tell you the truth without applying any force. Simple and elegant. If we did it your way, it would have been tearful hugs, affecting, heartfelt declarations and so on. Add what I missed."

"Candidness?"

"Oh, don't spoil the aftermath, Charles. Let me enjoy this."

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	18. Chapter 18

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Bright sun is sloping towards horizon.

Its' rays liven up Hisperia's grey walls, barely discernible in the distance. The cerulean sky is crystal clear, so no rain tonight.

Despite city's visibility, they will hardly make it there before dark, so mutual decision was to stay put and rest.

"Charles, you do know how to have fun, it appears," is Raven's commentary when Charles finishes telling her the tale of Erik's and his adventures.

"I'm fairly sure I mentioned a few memorable episodes of near-death experience, didn't I?"

After he says it, the notion suddenly becomes very clear. He has a momentary impression of a vicious white face swimming in front of his eyes and feels resonating keen pain in his chest.

"Yes," nods Raven: she is cheerful, unaware of him undergoing sudden turmoil. "That was awesome, dear brother! I decided! I'll join you on your mission in Hesperia, though I'm pretty sure they still have that lame warrant active," she murmurs with a slight scowl. "But you'll think of something, right? Thank you, Charles. You're truly the best! I'll tell Alex this instant."

Charles doesn't actually believe that he had any chance to fill in a word of disagreement. With noticeable spring in her step Raven strides to bring news to Alex, who is fishing downriver.

Without moving an inch from his lazy sprawl under the tree, Erik utters a brief dry laugh.

"Oh, Charles, now I see the sibling resemblance."

Do not let him engage you, do not let him…

"Erik, whatever clever thing you meant to say, you can just say it," can't hold it in Charles, and instantly regrets his snappish tone when Erik sits up and angles his body closer.

"What's wrong? Are you―"

"I'm just a little on edge."

Startled, he yelps, as he doesn't expect Erik to tackle him from behind. Two of them roll down the hill, crushing soft grass and flowers, and stop when Erik digs his elbow into the ground. His other hand has been cradling Charles' head all the time. Charles plants his palm against Erik's chest, the other on the ground, and forces himself to notice how rich the scent of earth and flowers is, how gently grass tickles his skin. He inhales and exhales slowly, then rolls onto his back, stretching out beside Erik with a laugh.

Charles looks up into the sky at the strangely shaped cloud covering the sun.

It looks like a sheep, he thinks.

"Have you been sleeping well?"

"Not very. Since that time I'm always wary of him attacking again," speaks Charles and squeezes his eyes shut as the sheep-like cloud reveals the sun, "I'm new to this kind of magic. But, to redeem myself in your eyes, so is everyone else. I know how to guard my mind, because I came across the technique in one of my father's manuscripts and thought it challenging at the time. Perhaps, I can find something in the Hesperian library. They say it is very good."

"Alliance should be able to handle him. In theory," muses Erik aloud. "Maybe, he's already been dealt with. We haven't heard from any of his cronies for a while."

"True. Although, I can't but be curious as to―"

Erik huffs.

"What?"

Charles feels a shadow on his face and hears rustle of clothes as Erik looms over him.

"If you're prying, you're well."

"That's not prying!" shakes his head Charles, stubbornly keeping his eyes shut. "Healthy inquisitiveness is a strength of every intelligent human being. I had already asked it, but I will repeat myself ― don't you wonder who he is?"

"So many people want me dead, that I'm used to it. Keeping count is not only extra vexing, but can drive you mad."

"You have the weirdest philosophy, my friend."

"Look who is talking."

Charles hears a smile in Erik's voice and smiles in return.

He shivers, when Erik sneaks a hand under his shirt and leans in, to plant a trail of kisses down his neck. Charles hums in delight, suddenly drowsy. His breathing speeds up, but everything else resolves him into sense of languor. Warmth, Erik's touch, smell of grass merge together.

"I might fall asleep," he warns Erik breathlessly.

"Not the words one would like to hear in such situation, but I expect you to. So you have my kind permission."

Charles accepts his kind permission with gratitude.

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As self-taught enchanter himself, Alex turned out capable of casting simple illusions. Now, instead of him, Erik sees a well-endowed blonde with twin braids and a mighty frown, which clashes horribly with sugary exterior. If this is how the lad fancies women, he is getting it from the twisted end.

"Why did you vote for this?" hisses Alex angrily.

"Because disguise is fun, whereas your proposed trip through sewers isn't."

Also, Charles is afraid of huge mutated rats. They are basically urban legend, but who cares if Charles now owes him another one.

"Well, ready?" comes Charles' voice, slightly distorted by spell, and Charles himself drags resisting Raven from behind the trees. "Please, tell Raven that she looks authentic, because I'm really getting very exhausted."

"Heh, Raven, you look kind of deadly. In the deadly gorgeous sense," hurries to add Alex.

Raven has chosen to be an islander and talked Charles into turning her in one of exotic looking strangers, tattooed from head to toe and wearing bizarre hair accessories. She is not through experimenting stage yet ― explained him Charles quietly, while Raven was busy drawing a desired image on the back of Charles' sketch book.

"Why all of you are so?...No, this won't do. Why nobody told me that we're doing a maid quartet? I thought it would be a band of hirelings looking for a job. I attract too much attention like that!"

You don't say so, smirks Erik.

"…Yes, Charles, I do. Especially, around disturbingly sweet things like you."

Erik's smirk turns into a grin.

Raven immediately whirls around, as if she has eyes on the back of her head, and Erik takes a step back instinctively. Her long whip-like hair does seem alive and hissing.

"Fine, dear, I see your reasoning, but only one last time. You already made me change the islander look like dozen times," retorts Charles dumbly and tells Erik. "There's no need to be cautious, it's only an illusion for eyes. You can touch and make sure."

Erik takes to invitation eagerly and runs hands through Charles' thick chestnut locks falling over his shoulders and almost reaching below thin waist. While his eyes take in a dainty and, to tell the truth, very charming girl with large sapphire eyes, snow-white complexion and a smile, both innocent and suggestive, his hands find out that that luscious hair reaches slightly below shoulders and the arms are of familiar lean and sturdy shape. Charles feels like Charles in his arms, though he looks like a runaway princess.

"Ahem," Raven breaks silence, and Erik notices with a start that he must have spaced out. "I realize that it is kind of intriguing and exciting, and also, maybe, very arousing, but shall we move on? Today, please?"

She has a point, damn it.

Erik quickly crosses his arms over his chest and says nothing, but makes sure that his look is expressive enough.

Raven stares him down as well.

"Last time, Raven. Are you sure now?" asks Charles with a sigh and Raven turns to him.

"Absolutely," she proclaims.

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They crossed one of pedestrian bridges, paid their fee and entered the city without any delay whatsoever. That is despite tight control and fidgety guards, who have just made a show of making one old man strip on the spot, because he had a suspiciously protruding belly, and turned down a granny with a basket of suspiciously coloured eggs.

Charles caught sight of two mages stationed at the gates. He grew anxious for a moment, but then noticed that both were idly chatting in the shade provided by the wall and were mostly there for appearances sake.

One of them, a tall lanky youth, has probably noticed Charles staring.

He winked at Charles and said something to his friend, which made the other sneer in unnervingly raunchy manner.

Feeling ill at ease, Charles whips his head in the opposite direction and fixes his eyes on Erik who is walking by his side. Looking at his fellow travelers is some strange experience, since Charles is both trained to see through illusion and cast one. Because of it, the images often flicker back and forth.

"Charles and I are off looking for a library," says Erik when they stop at the crossroads, "you two are off to somewhere I don't care about."

"Who put you in charge?" bristles Alex.

"Well spotted, Alex!" supports him Raven.

"I'm not ordering you. I'm merely describing your course of action."

It should not unsettle him that much, that Raven insisted she wants to look like his mother, right? Only, sadly, every time Charles opens his mouth to say something, the impression alone is enough to render him speechless.

In the end of verbal battle, one of many these days, Raven retreats with her head held high and Alex running at her heels.

Charles and Erik make the rest of their way in relative silence, which is very refreshing. The peaceful quiet comes to an end when they enter the library and Charles ushers Erik into white magic section, with a promise to come back and fetch him when time comes.

"While I'm searching for clues, I recommend you to read this, this, and, oh, these are absolutely a must," he stops loading Erik with books and scrolls when the pile reaches his eyes.

"Charles, have mercy."

"No. Your training is just beginning."

Charles pats an engraved cover affectionately and puts the final tome of "Spiritual spellcraft: why white magic counts." on top of the pile, thus breaking any eye contact.

"You're enjoying it too much," groans Erik from behind the tower of knowledge.

"Maybe."

Settling down in the library you lose count of time. Charles feels like he is constantly reading, taking notes, sorting out relevant and irrelevant, eating and napping occasionally, reading again — and the cycle repeats itself over and over.

The revelation comes with words and a hand on his shoulder:

"I'm done."

"What? Already?"

Charles peers up at Erik and then gasps:

"What happened to the spell?"

"I beg your pardon? It faded. Charles, we've been here for a week. And some of the scrolls you've given me were written in Elven dialect. I had to ask that testy librarian for a dictionary, while you were in your personal version of La-la land."

"I… I seem to remember now," utters Charles, in a sort of daze as if he is watching himself from somewhere outside himself. He recalls himself dropping in their rented rooms, eating and bearing part in the conversation, but all his actions were largely automatic.

"What about warrants? Did anyone — "

"There's no need to worry. We always come here before dawn and leave after dusk. Besides, vampires flooded Hesperia three nights ago and thinned the population considerably. Remaining guards and mages have more important things to deal with. Ah, don't make that face. You were dead to the world at the time. Tried to wake you up, but your sister advised against it. By the way, what is she? She is freakishly strong."

"Raven is a half-blood… Are you serious?" Charles jumps to his feet and darts to the window.

Last red rays of the setting sun illuminate smoldering bonfires in the streets, residents sweeping up debris in piles, black remnants of fire magic vandalizing housefronts and roofs.

Hesperia looks nothing like it did before.

Charles feels like sinking onto the floor, but Erik is able to get hold of him in time.

"Don't overreact. If you want my opinion, this city got what it deserved. However, the library is really good. It is a damn fortress and I like their working hours. I think I am up to some more reading."

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	19. Chapter 19

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Their table is groaning under a huge spread of rabbit stew, thick sliced tomatoes, cold beef, cheese and pickled eggs, crisp bread and sweet corn. Erik quietly seeps his drink, discreetly watching people dining in the hall. Neither of groups makes as much noise as theirs, though Alex and he remain silent, for the most part.

"Hold on! So, you think that that sorcerer might be from pre-Alliance times, but you have no idea why he popped up in our days," Erik has to interrupt Charles, proudly showing them his sketch of a stern faced man. To his credit, Charles is a surprisingly good artist.

"Pre-city-states times, in fact."

"That's nine or ten centuries ago!" exclaims Raven, flapping her fork enthusiastically.

"Wrong," Charles narrows his eyes, "Raven, what I told you about the importance of scholarly reading versus your light novels."

"Don't compare me to the likes of you," Raven stabs an accusing fork in Alex's direction. "For instance, our Alex can barely read at all."

"Hey!"

"Let's not flip the blame," tries Charles.

"Why not?" Raven sounds very surprised. "You blame me, I blame him, he blames… someone else. And it goes round and round."

Erik finds that this Queen of Fact Spinning needs to be stopped.

Charles beats him to it.

"Actually, I shouldn't be telling you any of this. It's obviously dangerous to be involved and I don't want you both to get hurt, so —"

"But you can't," Raven bats her eyelashes at Charles in abrupt display of docility. "Charles, you somehow managed to get into some interesting trouble once in a red moon. Don't you dare leave me in the dark!"

"It's about keeping you safe!"

"We really don't need you here, because you're useless when or if it comes to any direct confrontation with that mage. The only person capable of doing anything at all is Charles and we all are basically adding to his burden," sums up Erik.

"Harsh truth," scowls Alex.

Charles and Raven give Erik the same baffled looks.

"Well, Erik knows how to cut the ground from under someone's perspective," Charles recovers first, as he puts his sketchbook back on the table. "Moving on. There are tales about a man from the west with divine white magic gift, travelling around the world and helping the needy. Legends say that he spent all his riches on providing for the deprived. For that he was dubbed Great Priest or Pilgrim by some. Unfortunately, all traces of his real name have been gone for good. Also, in the manuscripts from that era, I discovered a brief mentioning of a renowned magician, who was famous for his outstanding mental abilities and that was the first clue. Soon, I realized that the rumored doings of Great Priest and this nameless magician overlap quite a few times for it to be a coincidence. Erik, you must recall being caught in the spell, which has seemingly frozen time. That's one of ancient magic arts we don't practise nowadays."

"Why?" inquires Alex.

"It was deemed too strenuous for mental equilibrium of a caster."

"So, these fine magic arts…" Erik mimics Charles' soft pronunciation.

"Made mages possessed."

"Oh, joy! Some well-preserved old crazy wants him," Raven nods at Erik, "caught for some reason and wants you dead." She tsks then, "Oh, I nearly forgot, he might want to resurrect the Lord of Chaos."

"Everyone always forgets about the Lord of Chaos," says Erik bitterly and Alex snickers into his glass.

"Phew! We are screwed," Raven tilts her glass down.

"There is always hope, my dear."

"I meant we're out of drinks, Charles."

"Oh."

They settle for another round and their innkeeper serves them himself, while he keeps repeating how grateful he is that such mighty heroes honoured his modest inn with their presence. And though they did save him and his family from vampires that night, making sure that his inn survives as well, his overbearing eyewashing starts getting on Erik's nerves.

"Aren't we way too carefree?" suddenly grumbles Alex.

Charles splutters on his drink and Raven gives her companion a hard glare.

"Careful! You may muff it, Summers," she starts mockingly, when a shrill scream interrupts her words and then multiplies into panicking cries.

People are forcing their way through the doors, so Erik grabs Charles' hand and pulls him back onto stairs.

"Alex, roof," catches up Raven behind him.

They squeeze through the narrow opening, and Erik swears when he nearly trips over that bouncing Beast. When Charles doesn't berate him, he spares a brief look at the other. Charles is standing, firmly clutching his bag to his chest, with his head thrown back, gaping at something in the sky.

The sun has only started rolling towards horizon, so a frigging flying mountain is closing in under perfect visibility.

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A large shadow is creeping over Hysperia and from their vantage point Charles sees that people start fleeing the city in panic. Apparently, this new threat is the last straw for long-suffering citizens.

"What's that?"

"It looks like a castle floating on the rock," reports Raven, her eyesight sharper than average human. "And, well, it looks a touch scorched and, ouch, it might be falling apart."

As she mentions it, a few large chunks of rock plummet down and collide with two city towers.

"We must hurry and escape," Erik grabs his shoulder. "Charles, come on!"

"Too soon! What about the egg? I still don't know where it might possibly be and—"

"Take cover!" screams Raven and tugs him aside, as a red blast pierces the roof in two.

Coughing up dust, Charles is blinking through dark spots in his vision, while Raven hoists him up.

"Charles, are you alright?"

"Think so," his gaze falls on deep smoking gash, slashing the building and running… oh my. It runs as far as he can see — a neat wound on city's exterior.

Erik and Alex are getting up on the other side of the roof — it immediately takes a load off Charles' heart.

"Is that thing aiming to dismember us?" mumbles Raven.

Erik's eyes find his over the chasm at the same time as Charles feels a whoosh of air behind his back. Before he casts a spell, something sleek winds around his neck and pulls him bodily back.

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Erik darts ahead and his sword slashes through air, where that red demon used to be.

Charles is nowhere in sight. As well as Raven, who, he figures, was able to grab him an instant they teleported.

Alex crouches down to pick up Charles' bag, dropped on the ground.

"Why his cronies always come back," Erik seethes to no one in particular and then it dawns that the magician in question is a master of resurrection. Of course.

"Erik, something big is coming," warns him Alex.

Fleeting awareness of a major shift in the flow is enough to set his teeth on edge. This time it comes from below, rumbling somewhere deep underground until it bursts through the fresh chasm, widens the split, and a huge wave of water rises high in the air. Erik reaches for Beast and moves under protection of Alex's shield just as all that water crashes down with a roar.

"Damn, this must be an entire underground river," pants Alex.

Their air bubble gets swirled and tossed, and then there's an acute feeling of falling.

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###

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An abrupt change from warm sunlit afternoon to cold dimness is striking. But it barely registers by his mind, because magic is already coursing through him and Charles channels it through his body in a wave, shrugging off foreign touch. His attacker gives a short growl as he stumbles back, inevitably burnt.

For a heartbeat Charles' limbs are shaking hard and he falls to his knees.

There's a clinking sound of steel meeting steel.

He quickly gets his wits back and turns around.

Raven parries the thrusting motion of two swords with her long dagger, but as she tries to counterattack the demon vanishes with a whoosh.

Charles quickly assumes a guarding stance and breathes out in relief when Raven moves to stand back-to-back.

"Is that the one with a cut off arm?" she asks under her breath, witheringly. "Because he looked fine to me."

"He did, indeed," Charles says, processing that for a moment.

A large chamber they found themselves in is devoid of any windows. The only light is spilling from a lone torch on the wall. When Charles notices slight reverberations underneath and overall magic seeping through walls, he comes to an imminent conclusion.

As he opens his mouth to share his guess, all four walls abruptly bare long spikes and shift closer, grumbling ominously.

"A spike trap. So mundane," drawls Raven, "Can you blast us a way out?"

Charles casts a spell and aims it at the spiky wall only to stare in bewilderment, as it evaporates as soon as a blast comes into contact with the wall. He tries all walls, in quick succession, one more time, and then changes his tactics and tries to stall the closing in wall, but to no avail.

"Charles, I'm getting concerned," Raven's dagger breaks against spikes and she lets out a frustrated noise.

"There are probably negating seals embedded in these walls."

Raven presses closer.

"If we are to die now, am I supposed to say some famous last words? Like — 'this was the way to live'! 'Your shameful secrets are safe with me, at least,' or, say, 'congratulations, this seems like a quick one," her voice cracks on the last syllable.

"This is my favourite thing about you," he chimes in and gropes for her hand, squeezes it tight.

Charles knows what is expected of him.

Headfirst, he plunges into swirling ocean of darkness and pleads and begs higher beings to grant him power until it pulses in his soul, in his chest, and soon, that clot of energy is pulsing in his hands.

After he sets it free, clasping it like one would a blade, so that it finally makes a fitting name, he brings it down in one smooth motion.

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###

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The catacombs must stretch underneath all Hesperia and, judging by faded or washed out runes on tunnel walls, are older than the city itself.

They are roaming knee-deep in dark waters, and thus Erik has to carry Beast. The demon is their guide — it growls when they turn at the wrong corner and keeps silent when they choose the right way.

"How can this thing help us find Raven and Charles?"

"I don't know. But since you don't have any useful ideas, be quiet and light the way."

It's simpler than the lad might imagine.

Beast's loyalty is a proven concept, whereas Alex's — isn't.

Not too soon, Beast brings them to stone steps, leading up to an entrance which was once guarded by the heavy stone doors, now half crashed by one of columns supporting the roof. The gaping slit is emitting low golden light, and even with his senses barely awoken, Erik feels potent cadence of magic, beating behind these doors like a heart of some giant fiend.

Runes litter the ruined doors, but, alas, Erik can't recognize any.

"Do you, by chance, know what is written here?" asks Alex, unapologetically blunt.

"Aren't you supposed to know? It's part of your craft."

"Hm. Like I should care. The seal is broken anyways."

Oh, how I wish it was Charles, groans Erik.

Erik is totally unprepared to discover a crystal clear pool in the center of the sanctuary. Water shines and glitters, and, there, in the center, partially submerged in the pool is a huge egg.

"Good job, Bouncy," Erik pats Beast and lets it out of his hands.

"This is great," Alex rubs his hands in excitement. "Hey, what are you doing?"

Erik shrugs and swirls his sword in what he hopes is an eloquent illustration.

"Charles has been fretting over this egg for ages. What do you think I'm going to do?"

"Wait! This is an amazing energy reservoir. No wonder Hesperia is shielded against dragons. It's ironic that they use their kind's magic source to do it."

"Your suggestion?"

"Just you watch."

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###

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Another long corridor looks just like the one from before.

"This is a maze".

"I'm afraid that if I try to destroy a wrong wall this entire place may crumble and bury us," says Charles in a low voice.

They come up to tall arched doors and Charles pushes them with a flick of his wrist.

A massive long hall stretches before their eyes. Two rows of patterned pillars, big enough to be circled by three people, line the space stingily lit by small loopholes, which let in sunlight. At last.

"Charles," Raven growls suddenly and points at the moving shadow.

Charles hastens to erect a shield when a figure of _that_ mage emerges from the dark. The man looks much older than he, or, rather, his copy did before. He is accompanied by the red demon. No burly bandit this time — must have run out of copies.

Charles thinks he is ready for anything.

That is, until something smashes against the side of his head, and he barely reacts in time before Raven gets in another blow. He shoves her away with a strong blast of wind and falls on one knee, unable to focus on anything, but nauseating pain.

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	20. Chapter 20

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This time, the undertone pouring off that man is fierce rage.

"You set up an entire army on me," speaks the mage, coming closer.

"Technically, that wasn't my fault," Charles informs him, because he wants to set this straight. As he lowers his trembling hand from his temple, he swallows.

It comes back red, but at least that drumming pain is dulled now.

One more spell gets reflected by his shield and he stumbles back another couple of steps. He doesn't know why the demon is standing motionless, but he is more worried about Raven, obviously controlled by his opponent. From the corner of his eye he sees her standing up.

"They destroyed everything I've achieved so far. Everything I've been—"

"Sorry to interrupt," Charles drops his shield. "All this time I've been dying to ask what is that… what you want?"

The man stills.

"How dare you," he bites out slowly.

"I can assume there is some grand scheme behind your actions," quickly babbles Charles, warily watching as Raven approaches them. "If only you could explain yourself clearly instead of trying to—"

Next thing Charles knows, he is being attacked by the fiery blast, which he avoids by simply dropping onto the floor. The blast takes down an entire wall and a couple of pillars, and Charles rolls over in time not to be squashed by a large chunk of falling ceiling. He darts a quick look back and the sight confirms his predictions — all he gets are clouds and blue sky as seen from the flying castle.

This would be a perfectly nice moment for a quick escape: he tends to agree with Erik here.

It would be, if not for Raven.

She launches at him, and Charles lets her close on purpose. All he needs is one touch.

Raven moves like a blur, he almost forgot how fast she can be.

Charles sidesteps, raising his hands as if to shield himself, but then, aims them down, at the ground, desperately hoping that his last-ditch effort works and his hasty spellwork is not too volatile.

Good thing about Mirkslay is, in the beginning, it looks fairly unassuming.

Raven's punch does connect, synchronous with ground splitting and him unleashing a counterspell to knock her out. They both lose their footing, plummeting towards ground. Charles, ears ringing, momentarily thinks that it might have been somewhat reckless.

His heart stops when he fails to catch Raven in his arms among chaos of falling debris and merciless heat.

After he does, he clings to her, wraps his hands around her, and pours all his magic into strengthening his shield.

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###

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A red beam zips through the flying castle and instantly blooms into an incredibly large blast. Explosion rips the foundation apart midair. Part of it collapses, rising a growling wave of forceful wind and dust.

Fortunately, massive ruins of guarding tower protect them from the worst of it.

"Woah!" gets out Alex.

"I know that spell," Erik turns to him. "It is Charles."

The castle tilts on one side, dangerously pitching nose dive.

"Hurry! We needed to be there a few hours ago."

Alex throws him a poisonous look. He has burned both hands, stupidly trying to suck out too much magic from that egg. Though, he quite succeeded, before Erik slashed it into pieces.

"Hang on! Damn draconian magic acts as it pleases. I need more time to concentrate."

"Alex, Erik, listen up," says Charles, appearing out of the blue between them.

Erik could swear his heart has just summersaulted or did something equally crazy, because before an understanding, that this is Charles' astral projection talking, sets in, he misses quite a great deal.

"And remember, don't show up anywhere near him. When I draw his attention away, grab Raven and run in the opposite direction or take cover. Unless you want me to fight you, please, do as I ask."

"Charles, you can't expect me to stay away," Erik finally gets his voice back.

"I very much expect you to," dryly says Charles, unrepentant, — his anxiety makes his words harsher than ever.

"Wait, how are you going to defeat him?"

Charles faces him with a small lopsided smile.

"He seems different from earlier. It shows that he is badly enervated from what he let slip were Alliance troops, ambushing this flying monstrosity of his. I should try."

With this said, his image winks out without goodbye.

Alex finally stands up from the uneven seal he was drawing.

"I guess, we won't be using it."

"Aren't you sharp?"

"Calm down, Erik," grimly tells him Alex and it is then, that Erik notices that he has his sword drawn out. "Charles is right. You were right that time. We'll be squashed like bugs, or worse — this Great Priest will use us against Charles," adds a self-proclaimed voice of reason and then, "Holy Mother of Gods! Can you see that?"

Erik looks over his shoulder and up and sees a large silver dragon, closing in from the south.

"Alex, think quickly! How do you successfully stall and capture a dragon? The one who can't stand you and is basically unwilling."

To tell the truth, an appealing idea of battling the enemy mage while riding the dragon starts forming in his mind.

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###

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Alex, a sorry loser, hasn't taken eyes off her human disguise since she transformed and seems to be drooling now.

Never mind that she's nearly taken his head off, when she discovered whose spell interfered with her flight.

"No one is riding a dragon," hisses Emmanuella.

"I wouldn't dare," shakes his head Erik, schooling his features.

"I saw it in your stupid, vulgar mind."

That's harsh.

"We are sorry. Please, forgive us and grant us your help," levelly pronounces Erik, carefully tucking his thoughts away.

"You're not sorry."

Erik snaps his mouth shut.

"I really want to help Charles. By any means," he says after a pause.

"Hm. I think, I may use someone with your unsympathetic attitude for one delicate errand of mine."

Out of all dragons, they have stumbled upon a pure pawnbrokery type. She always has plenty of delicate errands in waiting for fools like Charles and he.

Damn.

"Fine. I agree," nods Erik hurriedly, before her predatory grin gets unnaturally wide.

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###

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Charles is relatively confident that they hadn't stopped exchanging attacks even for a beat. He was lucky that his spell got the red demon right away, though that blow might be a temporary inconvenience for a creature from beyond.

He is fairly sure that once he slips or his focus fails him for a split moment, he will be done.

So, he holds himself together, and makes it all the way to the northern wall, or what's left of it, as far from Raven and others as possible.

Eventually, he leans against some wall for a breather, and it seems to curve under his back, as though in waves. Which is absolutely impossible, but together with general numbness it may mean that he has stepped into that dangerous realm of overexhaustion, where his senses should not be trusted any more.

"Damn, this might have been an effective counterspell," the mage wipes out his water trap with a sneer. "You know that won't do a thing. I'm waiting for one and only spell you can actually use against me, but all I'm getting is this useless trash."

That's exactly why I shall withhold from using it, thinks Charles darkly.

"What if I told you about Erik in exchange for your best spell?"

Erik's name does the trick.

Charles looks up at the sudden question.

Oh, and his shielding pattern wavers for an instance, and then — white dazzling light, heat, and he reels back solely with the force of it, until he regains his concentration and digs his heels into the ground.

His eyes hurt. A lot.

When he forces them open, nothing changes. Blackness remains.

"I feel that you'll tell me about Erik anyway," Charles retorts, struggling with growing panic and afraid to give himself away. Pain in his eyes ebbs away, though that's the only change he perceives. "He hasn't displayed any great magical gifts, except for one little anomaly, which I struggle to comprehend. Why is he so important to you?"

"He is my future…" Charles thinks he catches through sudden burst of roaring.

The overcharged atmosphere shifts.

Something is coming from above, and from his left, and Charles, caught in painful confusion, concludes that this is another attack.

Blindly, he lashes out with a simple sweeping wave, as he dashes to his right, stumbles, and feels a tight grip and a tug on his left elbow, followed by:

"Charles! Stop! What are you doing?"

"Erik?" ignoring commotion ahead, he turns his face — his cheek rubs against coarse material of Erik's cloak, when it dawns, at last, that he can't see.

"You look very bad," Erik sneaks arm around his shoulders. "Hold on a little longer. Alex is with Raven. And your dragon friend agreed to shield me for a little while, so that you could have a chance for a clear strike. If she can't overpower him. Well," roaring intensifies, "she can't. What a lousy dragon…"

"Erik I can't either," almost whispers Charles, but Erik somehow manages to hear that, as his grip tightens. "I can't see a thing."

Inside his head, he sounds much more panicked than he does when he actually says it.

"What happened? No, wait. She has just engaged him in the sky," Erik puts his hand on Charles' forehead first. "Close your eyes, I'll try to help."

Charles obeys. He acutely feels rough warm skin against his eyelids and can't keep in a sigh, when healing warmth spreads through contact — magic at work, evaporating the echo of pain in his eyes along with insistent aching of his head.

When he blinks again part of him expects it, and he hates that he is right.

"Thank you, but it didn't help," he tries to free himself from Erik's grip. "Where are they?"

"Falling down in three, two, one," reports Erik — that stubborn man refuses to budge.

Charles winces at the noise and shrill scream, accompanying the said fall.

"Erik, let go of me."

His struggles end up in vain.

There's something happening to the flow, some mad rush he rarely falls under. Magic resonates even in his blood, which heats up, at though he suddenly experiences severe fever and as though it wants to crawl out of his chest.

"Please, go before he catches us both," heaves Charles. "Did you forget that he can control people? Oh my —"

"No, I'm not under spell. A little trust here, Charles, and will you stop wiggling? Sorry, sorry. I'm holding you close for a reason," only now strain in Erik's voice gets noticeable. "It's my sword. Like when you first touched it. Remember all these stripes of light? They are swamping around us right now."

He knows what to do even before Erik finishes speaking.

They are outside time itself for a few precious moments, no more.

"Direct the blow after I'm done," rasps Charles quickly, "let me touch it."

Charles' fingers burn as he grips the hilt.

His intention finds its way through darkness and he doesn't have to shut his eyes for that anymore, here he stifles a sob, but, just as he does, he feels Erik's hand covering his. The ripple of unswerving darkness grows stronger, mightier than ever, blending with remnants of elven magic. Until it blows through.

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###

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"How was looting?" Raven asks daringly. "We could have left without you, you know."

He did lost track of time as sun has almost disappeared below horizon: only a tiny fraction of red disk was still visible. Yet, Erik doesn't feel like letting Raven vent her frustration at him.

"Good," he says and grips the strap of his heavy shoulder bag tighter.

"We and Alex now owe Emma a bunch of favors, because someone, yes, I mean you, Alex, can't draw a decent teleportation seal."

She carefully leaps over the ornate patterned lines and sits on the ground in the circle, by Charles' side. She bends her head so low that her disheveled hair falls in curtain, obscuring the view. Of course, Charles is fairly out of it. It is unfair how it stings that, yet again, Charles is the one having the worst of it.

"Alright," Alex steps into the seal after him, and cautiously nudges Beast away from the inner edge. "I was assured that it works perfectly fine, but it needs all magic I have absorbed from the egg and my life force as well. So, after I'm done, I trust you not to drop my recuperating body somewhere in the ditch."

"Let's say goodbye to these smoldering ruins at last, mighty sorcerer," mutters Raven.

She looks up at Erik when he sags on the ground beside Charles as well. There is a beginning of slow understanding in her eyes.

Then — the seal flashes bright.

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	21. Epilogue

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There's an instant of brief confusion when Raven suddenly pushes open an attic window from outside and performs a complicated maneuver, on the edge of common sanity, sliding in like a snake.

"Doing some reading?" she asks him innocuously, as if she hasn't been dying to find out what he discovered among ruins all this time.

"Surely, you don't expect me to report to you?" Erik shuts the book with a dramatic flop. Though, he has all reasons to believe, that for anyone but him, pages will look empty. This blood magic still makes his head reel at times.

"Duh," huffs Raven, tilting her head in curious manner. "Charles is sending me away, so I came to say goodbye."

"Please, tell me you'll come back soon," mocks her Erik.

Raven ignores his implication.

"I need to see to our property remodeling," she mentions mysteriously, "Why do you think Charles was hoboing around, bothering Moira when you first met? He was actually skipping his duties."

She skids to a halt by the locked door:

"Coming?"

They take down two flights of footworn wooden stairs, as old and grouchy as everything in the small cottage. The stairs are a disaster — you should not only watch your feet out of increased chances of slipping, but also your head — low ceilings with balks is a forehead bang waiting to happen.

Prior, Erik could hardly imagine Charles leaving in such house. However, the presence of guarding charms and scrolls and quills stuck in the cupboard, where one would expect to find linens or kitchenware is less of a puzzle.

Charles is sitting on the stairs on the porch, idly stroking Beast. Their arrival obviously startles him, as they both are into persistent habit of hushing their steps.

"Raven?" he asks, still unsure.

"One and only. And Erik," she laughs and crouches to give him a quick hug and pick up her satchel. "Already leaving. Take care of yourself! And make Erik tell you what he saw in that flying castle before I arrive. He won't share with me!"

Erik grits his teeth. _Really?_

Any hope for secrecy turned to ashes.

"Nothing wrong with keeping something to yourself, if that's what you want," says Charles after a while.

He moves to stand up and Erik clasps his hand to stabilize him, unprompted.

"Today was almost a success," Charles goes on nonchalantly, carefully stepping up on the porch. "I tripped only four times and I've broken only one plate. When the effects of backlash are truly gone, I'll think of some technique to help me navigate the space — "

"You aren't going to need it," interrupts him Erik. "Though, you can keep breaking plates. That pot-maker must have been armless."

Charles' mouth quirks slightly, but then he frowns. Erik thinks again that his bright eyes didn't change a bit aside from now permanent far-away look, due to lack of any focus.

"Well, I have my hopes high, although magically obtained damage is trickier than," Charles pauses and suddenly drops his soft tone. "No, it obviously doesn't work. Forget about keeping things to yourself, Erik. I mean it! I expected that after I told you that, you'd share more willingly. I didn't want to press, but apparently I have to. Don't think that I don't pay attention to your frequent, and I want to emphasize it: _unsaid_ — "I'm sorry, Charles. I was busy and I can't tell you what exactly I've been doing". I wish you could, because, you know, Erik, I might be blind, but I'm not completely clueless."

Erik, taken aback by tirade, ventures:

"Em, Charles, don't get me wrong, but are you —"

"Oh, let me help you find a proper adjective. Angry? Yes, quite a bit. I suddenly find myself without one of vital senses, in our old summer house, where, I swear, every piece of furniture wants to maim me. And with a dear friend of mine, who is growing more and more distant every day. Try to stay calm and composed in my place," he sighs, loudly, and, by the way he is gasping for breath Erik can tell that his little speech took quite a toll.

"Chair?"

"You're reading my mind. That was the most exhausting one-sided conversation I've had lately," Charles sags into his rocker, seemingly not at all bothered by Erik's aid, but enjoying it.

When Beast jumps on his lap Charles flinches.

"Stop sneaking up, you blue leech," Erik grabs it and aims to toss it off the porch.

"Erik! I almost don't have any spare magic left. I'm sure, Beast just likes my company," says Charles drily. "Besides, unlike someone, Beast is always around."

"I'm very sorry."

"You'd better be. Now, don't keep me in suspense anymore."

"Fine, fine. You don't recall how we killed him?" starts Erik carefully.

"No. How could I?" Charles retorts quietly.

"That was very impressive. And terrifying. For a split moment I thought you had lost control," Erik remembers very well that feeling when Charles grew limp by his side and darkness broke free. He also believes that that blast had a will of its own, but he doesn't want Charles to think that he is subjected to weird leaps of imagination.

"Afterwards, when disturbances in the flow died down, I felt a pull. Obviously, I decided that there was no harm in investigating the ruins of his castle. And, as I realized, later, that was not the decision I would have made. Perhaps."

"Ah, I see…"

"It was trashed inside. Everything upside down, but I discovered what I came for surprisingly easily. There was a book, wood bond, with a gemstone embedded in its cover."

"You touched it?" Charles sounds breathless.

"It's embarrassing how easily I can be swayed, but yes," confesses Erik. "It was absolutely blank inside at first. Words started to appear gradually, and before I realized it, I had spent almost an hour reading. Not reading exactly. I'm still not sure what language this is. After that, I wanted to throw it away. I couldn't, in the end. I picked it and some other scrolls scattered nearby and left. At the time I thought, you might find them interesting when you recover."

"Is this book here now?"

"Yes, in an attic trunk."

"Heavens, Erik! I should have known," utters Charles self-deprecatingly.

"You are not thinking about destroying it or something like that?" suspicion is rising, together with odd cold fear and Erik watches very attentively how Charles settles for a soft, calm smile.

"No, of course not. This is an amazing source of knowledge! I wouldn't dream of setting it on fire on the sacred altar at midnight and scattering the ashes to the four winds after a cleansing prayer."

"That was awfully specific."

"Was it? I'm sorry. But, you know me, I like to talk about my craft so much."

"If you say so," Erik is not convinced.

"Come on, Erik. You owe me a walk in the woods. There is still some time left before sunset and I believe Alex has mentioned leftover wine before leaving. Please, be so kind and have a look in our root cellar behind the house. Also, could you grab us a blanket?"

Charles has this peculiar earnest expression, which works its magic better than any of his spells.

"Alright, I'll be back in an instant."

When he comes back, Charles is relaxing in the chair, murmuring some nonsense to Beast, who, again, is perched on his shoulder.

That evening they had lovely time in the woods, indeed.

Charles never uttered a word about the book again.

Yet, after he fell asleep, Erik waited for some time, then got up, wrapped the book in Charles' old cloak and hid it in the woods.

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Days went by slowly, and Erik was truly enjoying the tranquil flow of time. He only came to realize how much time passed with Raven's arrival. In a fancy navy dress. And riding a snow-white stallion, no less.

While tying the reins to the young oak tree near the porch she asks:

"Where is Charles?"

Erik hushes her.

"Asleep."

"At noon? How is he feeling?"

"He says better. His magic is coming back. In the morning he attempted a healing ritual on his own."

"Did it —"

"No, not yet."

Her face falls.

"Right. Let me grab something to eat and I'll be off — it's a ride-by visit this time."

Next dawn, Erik wakes up with a splitting headache, and blearily blinks at Charles, hovering over him and spreading a faint smell of burned wood.

"So? How is your head?"

"What kind of joke is this?" Erik rasps with lips so dry and throat so parched, he feels like he'd been badly sunburned and hadn't had a drop of water in days.

"I wouldn't call possession a joke," says Charles perceptively. "You sound fine to me, so, forgive me, but I need to lie down again and soon. I had quite an exciting night, and, well, probably exciting is not the word which is descriptive enough."

He attempts to straighten up, but sways and falls face down across bed.

"Charles, what have you done?"

Erik doesn't recognize his own voice — he is seething, both outraged and petrified and there is also a dangerous desire to strangle Charles, lying prone and muttering something into his blanket.

"I was saying — it was blood magic, wasn't it? Otherwise, you wouldn't be able to open it," Charles props himself on the elbow, digging it right into Erik's side, of course. "Ouch, wrong spot, sorry. How did he trace his bloodline to you I have no idea. I checked that time — his house was rumored to be slaughtered during an infamous dragon uprising."

To stop Charles' clumsy groping Erik sits up and pushes Charles up as well, grabbing his shoulders.

"I wanted to cure you," he hisses. "Do you realize what I would be able to do with all that knowledge in hand? Do you?"

He shakes Charles for good measure, despite a tiny voice inside his head telling Erik that he is hurting him.

"Erik, get hold of yourself," he hears through persistent noise in his ears.

Charles really knows how to get under my skin — he thinks suddenly. It's high time to end this.

Then, something small and furry jumps up and digs its fangs into his forearm, forcing him to let go of Charles. Erik slams his arm against headboard to smash the thing, but Beast is faster and he hears a crack as the force of collision breaks his bone. Pain flairs up promptly. Also, white light floods the room and everything goes dark.

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He wakes up with a headache of a different kind — this one is dull and resides somewhere in the back of his head. Erik groans and, as events of previous weeks and especially previous morning drift back, he briefly wishes for it to be a nightmare.

"You awake?"

Erik opens his eyes and turns his heavy head to find Charles' astral projection in the doorway.

"Charles, are you alright?" is the first thing he asks throwing on his clothes.

"Thank you for asking. I'm fine, aside from the obvious. I decided that waiting in your room is not wise, that's why the projection," says Charles coyly. "And I can still see you like this. You can't believe how I missed the sight."

He vanishes then, and Erik rushes straight to the porch.

Charles is there, of course, sitting on the stairs.

Erik takes him in — a new road cloak, a satchel slung over his shoulder, and he blurts before he catches himself:

"Are you leaving?"

"I rather thought we are leaving. I have an idea where to find a decent healer. Also, you may continue studying and become one yourself. Wouldn't it be great! But, no cheating with ancient forbidden magic, alright?"

"Yes, absolutely."

Charles holds out a hand for him.

Erik clasps it.

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 _The end_


End file.
